Envy
by TraSan
Summary: Not everything that threatened his family was supernatural. Sometimes danger arrived wearing a familiar face, packaged in fancy wrapping paper and sporting a captivating smile. When it came for his brother, he didn't even see it coming. Now Complete.
1. Green Eyed Jealousy

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize belongs to someone else, namely Kripke and the folks at CW.

**Beta'd: **By the ever fantabulous Wysawyg. Green is a lovely color, isn't it?

_I had homework after she beta'd, so as always, all remaining errors are mine._

**Special Thanks: **To Carocali, the best research assistant a girl could wish for.

**Dedicated: **To Jen B – you know why! Squee!

**Time Line: **Early June, 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam is fifteen.

………………….……………..………………..**Green-Eyed Jealousy**………………………………………………….

_Sam slammed the ice pack down on the exam table with enough force to rattle teeth. "Dean, this is the dumbest thing you've ever done!"_

"_Oh, I don't know about that. Remember that waitress in Tampa?" Dean shuddered._

_---Croatoan_

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Rose sat down on a stool by the counter and circled her ankles enjoying the stretch of tired muscles. Two full days of covering for Shelly had left her feeling run down and bone tired. The only highlight of her day would be walking through the door any moment now. Over six feet of muscle, jade green eyes and megawatt smile. Not to mention he could charm the socks off any girl here, but he always sat at her table.

The bell over the door chimed, signaling the entry of a customer. Rose sighed and brushed short locks of reddish-brown hair behind her ears. Looking up, she smiled. He was here. "Dean!" Rose greeted him warmly. "Saved your booth for you. I'll be right over with coffee."

He winked and graced her with a wide smile of her very own. "Thanks, Rose," he replied.

Rose pulled two menus out of the rack, not that Dean would need one. He had been stopping here almost every day for nearly six weeks now. She grabbed a pot of coffee and sauntered over Dean's booth in record time. Rose poured the coffee into a waiting mug and set the menus on the table. "How are you today, Dean?" she asked with a smile.

"Better now that we're here," Dean replied, his eyes twinkling. He picked up the menu, but did not bother to open it. "So, what's good today, besides you?" Rose giggled, a slight pink tinged her cheeks.

A half-smothered snort drew Rose's attention to the other occupant of the booth. "Sam," she acknowledged. A mop of brown hair bobbed in affirmation from behind a thick copy of the 'World History' book. She had always hated history. "Care for anything to drink besides water today?"

"Iced tea, please," Sam replied, his hazel eyes making their first appearance over the top of the book. "No lemon." He and Dean exchanged amused glances.

"Got it," Rose replied as she turned her attention back to the older brother. "So, what'll you have?"

"Two specials," Dean answered, handing her back the unopened menus.

"Coming right up," Rose stated as she sashayed back to the kitchen.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Dude, I told you," Sam said, closing his history book and stashing it in his backpack. "I get iced tea with no lemon every time and every time she still asks me what I want to drink."

"She doesn't hate you, Sammy," Dean smirked. "At least no more than any other teenager that wanders in."

Sam scowled. "It's Sam," he reminded his big brother. "And I didn't say she hated me, I said she likes you better."

"Can't blame the girl for that," Dean teased.

Sam shot him the 'whatever' glare and asked, "Is Dad still leaving tomorrow?" He looked up when Rose placed a bowl of soup and a glass of iced tea in front of him. "Thanks."

"Yep," Rose acknowledged. She topped off Dean's cup of coffee and leaned over on the table. "Do you need anything else?"

"I'm good," Dean replied with an edge of suggestiveness.

"I'm sure you are." Rose snapped her gum and flashed Dean a toothy smile. "Be right back with those specials."

Sam rolled his eyes and attempted to harpoon the floating lemon wedge with his fork. "Dean," he said trying to regain his brother's wandering attention. Dean's eyes had followed Rose back to the kitchen. "Dean." Sam snapped his fingers several times in front of his brother's face.

Dean batted Sam's hand away. "Knock it off, Sam."

"I will if you can stay focused on our conversation for more than five minutes," Sam quipped, taking a sip of iced tea and frowning at the bitter taste. He tipped the sugar dispenser and poured a granulized stream into his glass before stirring.

"Got enough sugar there?" Dean teased. "Between your sugar and caffeine habit and the amount of worrying you do about _everything _you're gonna have high blood pressure by the time you're twenty."

"And you're going to have an STD," Sam shot back with a self-satisfied smirk.

Dean spluttered into his coffee. "Good one," he conceded. At Sam's continued grinning he added, "You're gonna pay for it, but it was good one. Besides, I always wear safety gear when I participate in extra-curricular activities."

Sam could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck. "Don't worry, Sammy," Dean reassured him. "I won't be too hard on ya."

"I'm not worried," Sam shot back with false bravado. "Dad'll stop it before you get too far out of hand. I think he's still angry about the plastic wrap on the toilet seat."

"There's only one flaw in your logic there, geek boy," Dean quipped with a smirk. At Sam's raised eyebrow he finished, "Dad's leaving."

"Shut up," Sam mumbled into his soup. He contemplated the hunt their father would be joining Bobby on tomorrow. Dad didn't normally hunt with anyone other than him and Dean, at least not since they were old enough to join in. That alone was enough to make Sam suspicious. His dad had voiced the dubious reason of the hunt only taking approximately three weeks and there not being any need to pull Sam out of school with only a week left until summer break. Dad had pulled him out of school plenty of times, so the argument did not quite sit right with Sam. He didn't know many of the details of the hunt, but he was pretty sure Dean did and he wasn't very forthcoming. "About this hunt…."

"Two blue plate specials," Rose announced depositing the plates on the table. Sam sighed, frustrated at the repeated interruptions to his attempts to squeeze information out of his brother. Rose and Dean both ignored him and in fact, Rose practically lay on the table she leaned over it so far. "Do you need anything else, Dean?" she oozed.

"Nope, I'm good," Dean replied. "What about you, Sam?" He peered around Rose's ample chest and waggled his eyebrows at his little brother.

Sam resisted the urge to sigh again, something for which he felt he should get a scout badge. "I'm fine, thanks."

"He's fine," Rose repeated, nodding her head at Dean. He nodded his head at her and after a few moments of awkward silence she peeled herself off the table and walked away slowly with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

"She's hot," Dean remarked in her wake. He picked up his BLT and took an enormous bite.

"She's obvious," Sam countered.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Dean said around a mouthful of sandwich. This time, Sam did not try to stop the eye roll. His brother was incorrigible. "When're finals?" Dean asked.

"I had one today and I have two tomorrow," Sam replied, surprise lacing his tone. He did not realize Dean kept that close track of his schedule. It should not have come as any surprise, experience had taught him Dean kept a pretty close eye on everything he did. It was both a blessing and a curse at times.

Dean rolled his hand in a signal for Sam to continue. "Trig today, History and Advanced Lit tomorrow," he supplied.

"So, that leaves you free this weekend?" Dean asked before taking a gulp of coffee.

"Yeah," Sam replied, drawing out the word in suspicion. "Why?"

"No reason," Dean replied with a carefully guarded look. "Keep it free."

"Okay." Sam ate his sandwich, his mind whirling over the implication of Dean's statement. Dean could have anything planned. A free weekend without school or hunting was a rarity for them. He could feel the corners of his lips turn down as his thoughts turned to hunting. Dean had still avoided answering his questions.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean shook his head in frustration. He could tell Sam's thoughts had refocused on his unanswered questions despite Dean's attempts to distract him. His little brother could be annoyingly focused and determined when it came to sniffing out all the facts.

Bobby had called Dad for help on a hunt on Mackinac Island and while it would keep him out of touch for awhile, Bobby would be with him. Dean had helped with the research, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to go with his dad on this hunt. He always felt more comfortable when he could keep his eyes on Dad and Sammy's backs. All of which brought him back full circle.

He had been the one to convince Dad to let Sam finish out the school year. Not that it had taken much convincing; it really had been the smarter choice. Sam only had a few days left of classes and then they could pack up the gear and join Dad and Bobby in Michigan. They would not join the hunt, but they'd be close and could provide help if needed.

Although it had been his suggestion, the idea of his dad being in one place and Sam in another gave Dean a case of wracked nerves. It would be next to impossible to keep tabs on both situations and he had to watch out for both members of his family. His dad was the one headed into an unknown hunt, but no one seemed to attract supernatural crazies like his little brother.

Dean figured he had some leeway on timing because Bobby had said it would take about a week of research before they could even start hiking into the hunting ground. Tourists were disappearing and when they were found, there wasn't much left of them. A free weekend would give Dean a little time alone with his brother doing something they rarely were able to do, waste time on a little fun.

A bit of financial finagling and a great deal of flirting with a female scalper had found him two tickets richer to the Marlins versus Mets game on Saturday. The Marlins were a new team, but they had won the World Series last year. The idea of spending a guilt-free day watching a game with his little brother was too hard to resist even if it did take them nearly three hundred miles in the wrong direction.

Sam's hand waving in his face alerted Dean to the fact he had missed something his brother had said again. "Dean, you know something about the hunt, don't you?" Sam asked.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and down his face in frustration. Sam played dirty pool. He knew the exact tone of concern coupled with lost puppy look that melted Dean's resolve every time. "Yeah, I do," he conceded in a rush of expelled air. "Look, it isn't anything any more dangerous than anything else Dad has gone up against. Bobby just needed Dad's help, that's all. Don't worry."

"If there wasn't anything to worry about, you wouldn't be so evasive," Sam countered, going straight down the line of reasonable insistence that so often rubbed their father the wrong way.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Dean replied. "I might just like yanking your chain."

"You do," Sam conceded. "But it's different when you're hiding something from me." Sam's stomach rumbled in protest and he grimaced.

"You feeling okay?" Dean asked, happy for the opportunity to change the topic. Sam could be like a pit-bull in his dogged persistence.

"I, uh, I'll be right back," Sam forced out. He disappeared in a whirlwind of gangly limbs, tripping twice on his way to the restroom. Dean suppressed a chuckle. Sam had been growing so quickly he sometimes stumbled in an uncoordinated shuffle, seemingly unable to keep track of his legs.

Sam had literally been growing at a phenomenal rate of nearly a half inch every two weeks. He loomed perilously close to Dean's height and Dean worried Sam would pass him before the end of the year. There was something cosmically unfair about being the oldest and not being the tallest, but Dean had stopped expecting fairness from the universe over fourteen and half years ago.

As Dean finished the last bite of his sandwich, Rose sat down in Sam's vacated seat. "Is he okay?" she asked, her face a picture of concern.

"Yeah, he has finals this week. Grades mean a lot to Sam. He's a geek," Dean explained with a wide smile.

"I wish grades had meant more to me when I was in school," Rose replied wistfully. "Maybe I'd have a better job."

"Hey, it's a good job," Dean reassured her. "And you're good at it."

Rose grinned bashfully under the unexpected compliment. She seemed to debate what to say before stating, "Dean, I had a lot of fun the other night and I kind of hoped we could make another night of it."

"I'm free tonight," Dean replied with a grin. His expression became serious and he added, "But I have to be honest, Rose. Sam and I are leaving town this weekend and I don't know if you want to go on another date knowing it's the last one."

Dean thought he saw a momentary look of anger cross Rose's features before settling back to a decidedly neutral gaze. "I don't mind. I'm not looking for anything serious. Just a little fun."

He smiled. "Now that, I can do."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam heaved, resting his arm on the cool porcelain. _God he was sick. _He had not actually vomited, but he certainly felt as if he needed to. He rested only a minute longer and despite his roiling stomach, stood to rejoin his brother. If he stayed away too long, Dean would come looking for him. It was embarrassing enough getting sick in a public restroom without adding an audience to his humiliation.

He steadied himself by grasping the sink with both hands. He stood for a moment, head bowed, until he could remove one hand to turn on the faucet. He splashed cold water on his face and washed his hands. Sam took a look in the mirror and satisfied with his appearance, headed back out to the diner.

He could see Rose seated at the booth with Dean. His brother said something to Rose causing her to laugh and place a hand on his arm. Sam shook his head in amazement. Dean certainly worked fast.

Sam approached the booth, sure he would have to bodily force Rose out of his seat when Dean spared him the trouble. "You look like shit, Sammy," Dean remarked, sliding out of the booth and indicating Sam should slide in. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. He knocked his knee on the table's center pole on the way in. _Ouch. _"Just a little queasy that's all." A half-truth always went further towards deceiving his brother than a complete lie.

"We'd better get going," Dean remarked, not sitting back down. He tugged at Sam's sleeve to emphasize his point.

"I could bring him a glass of milk," Rose suggested. "That might settle his stomach."

"I'm fine, really," Sam interjected.

"Milk would be good," Dean replied.

"What am I, five?" Sam asked with a frown. "No milk."

"I'll be right back," Rose said pointedly ignoring Sam's protest. She quickly vacated the booth and Dean slid into the red vinyl booth on Sam's previous side.

Sam could tell Dean did not like his back to the door because he looked over his shoulder twice before addressing him. "Exams?" Rose set a glass of milk down in front of Sam on a fly by to serve the table next to them.

Sam nodded. "Probably," he sighed. There was no way to fight Dean when he went into super-big-brother mode. "Really, Dean, I'm good. Let's get going. I'd like to spend some time with Dad tonight. You know he'll be gone before we get up in the morning."

"Don't think you're going to get any more out of Dad than you did me," Dean remarked. "Drink your milk." He nodded to the glass growing warm on the table.

Sam scowled and mouthed Dean's words back at him before taking a drink. By the time half the milk disappeared, his stomach pains had eased. He gave the passing Rose a wane smile of appreciation. "Thanks," he said.

"I'm just glad it worked," she replied, setting the bill down in front of Dean. "Pick me up at seven?"

"I'll be there," Dean agreed. He tossed a twenty onto the table and waited for Sam to gather his backpack. "Let's go. Dad'll be home soon."

Sam nodded and trudged behind his brother. His rolling stomach calmed, but not cured, he pressed a hand against it when a rumbling sound signaled a possible revolt. This was not the only time he had become sick after eating at the diner. The first time he had felt so sick that Rose had actually taken pity on him and packed up some chicken soup to go. Sam believed that was the first night Dean had asked Rose out on a date.

In fact, Sam would not choose to keep eating at the Iron Skillet if it weren't for Dean. His brother not only enjoyed Rose's company, he liked the food and Dean with his very own cast iron stomach never got sick.

Sam slid into the passenger seat and leaned his head against the window. "Are you sure you're okay?" Dean asked from his place behind the wheel. "I can cancel my plans for tonight." He checked his mirrors and pulled out into traffic.

Sam frowned and replied, "Why would you do that? Dad's home and this is probably your last night to go out." Sam would not mind if Dean went out after their dad left on the hunt, but he knew his dad and he knew his brother and neither of them would find that acceptable.

"Yeah, Dad has a terrific bedside manner," Dean joked, lowering his voice and clipping his tone. "Samuel, if you're going to be sick, grab a wastebasket. If you get anything on those silver bullets you'll be up tonight until you get them all cleaned."

Sam laughed and wrapped an arm around his rebellious stomach in support. Dean did not often impersonate their father, even in jest, but no one could do it better. He thought back to the last time he had been sick. He had stopped at the diner without Dean after school and had felt so poorly that Rose had given him a ride home.

He had been lucky his dad was out on a week-long hunt and it had only been Dean greeting him at the door with a practical stranger in tow. Dean had helped him to bed and checked on him frequently, but he had heard Dean and Rose talking in hushed voices for several hours.

"It'll be fine. I'm only planning on talking to Dad for a little while and then turning in early," Sam reassured him.

"If you're sure," Dean replied, turning into the apartment complex. The ramshackle apartments were located in a less than desirable neighborhood, but they had been a real home for however short a time it had lasted. "Because I made plans with Rose tonight and I think she wants to…"

Sam held up his hand and said, "I don't want to know or think about what you and Rose may have planned. My stomach's upset already."

Dean slapped him lightly on the chest in response. "That's two I owe you."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Rose bussed the Winchester's table and sighed contentedly. She had another date with Dean. If only he did not always have his little brother glued to his side, it would be so much better. She knew a lot of families who were close, but the Winchester brothers spent an exorbitant amount of time together for how old they were.

Usually kids Sam's age had sports, school activities or girls to keep them occupied. Sam seemed to have none of those things and she found him annoyingly underfoot when she would have preferred the company of his older brother.

Oh sure, Sam seemed like a nice enough kid, but he sucked time from Dean that could be spent on other pursuits, such as spending time with her, if he wasn't around. He did serve a useful purpose though – he was a straight shot to Dean.

Rose slowly poured the remaining iced tea in the sink, watching the brown liquid circle the hole and disappear down the drain.

….………………………………………..….……...**Supernatural**……..………………………………………………..

AN: I was planning a one-shot based on the _Croatoan_ quote, but after a general idea prompt from Phx on SFTCOL(AR)S it morphed into something different.

_Incidentally, the Marlins really did make it to the World Series in 1997 (one year previous). They beat the Cleveland Indians to win the Series._


	2. Love Does Not Envy

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **I didn't build the playground, but I'm riding the merry-go-round nonetheless.

**Beta'd: **By Wysawyg – ever witty, resourceful and a member in good standing of the POV Police!

_I played with the Sam and Dean action figures again after she resealed the box, so any errors that keep them from being in mint condition are mine and mine alone._

**Special Thanks: **To Carocali for research help and just plain supportiveness.

**Time Line: **EarlyJune, 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam recently turned fifteen.

………………………………………………….**Love Does Not Envy**………………………………………………

_Oh sure, Sam seemed like a nice enough kid, but he sucked time from Dean that could be spent on other pursuits, such as spending time with her, if he wasn't around. He did serve a useful purpose though – he was a straight shot to Dean. _

_Rose slowly poured the remaining iced tea in the sink, watching the brown liquid circle the hole and disappear down the drain._

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John carefully packed his weapons bag. The salt tin, lighter fluid, three sizes of knives, two guns: both his Colt and a Sturgis, ammo and his leather bound journal all fit snuggly into the bag. He glanced over at his youngest son, hovering over his left shoulder in the doorway. "Hand me those flares," he stated by way of acknowledgement. He knew Sam wanted to talk to him about something, but with his youngest it could be anything from the unfairness of the universe in general to a heart-felt discussion about the meaning of life.

Inwardly he sighed. Just one more son to guide through the teenage years and then he could breathe easier. Thank God, Dean had never suffered from as much emotional teenage angst as Sam did. He was also grateful he had Dean to help him. If it had just been him and Sam, one of them would not be making it through unscathed. He loved both his sons equally, but sometimes teenaged Sam was simply more than he could handle. If he was being honest with himself he would admit he did not understand Sam half the time and the other half Sam reminded him entirely too much of himself.

When it became apparent that Sam would not be volunteering any information John stated, "Something you want to talk about, Sam?"

Sam tapped his thumb on the doorjamb and John turned away from his bag to give his son his undivided attention. Sam scuffed his tennis shoe on a loose section of dirty beige carpet in the doorway, avoiding eye contact with him. Not a good sign. "Well?" John demanded gruffly.

Sam looked up and John could see indecision flitting across his face and something else as well. Something his oldest son would have been able to identify and address, but that left John completely in the dark. A fact that had him feeling proud of his sons and sadness at his own loss at the same time.

"When are you meeting Bobby?" Sam asked finally.

_It has to be bad if he needs to work himself up to it_, John thought. "Early Friday morning on Mackinac Island. Bobby is already there, but he hasn't been able to nail down what this thing is yet."

Sam met his gaze with expressive hazel eyes begging him for the truth. He did not know what Sam thought he was hiding, but he did not have time to play twenty questions. Sam would have to spit it out or let it go. John hid a grim smile, by turning back to packing. There was little to no chance his youngest would simply let it go.

"Dad, how dangerous is this hunt, really?" Sam asked.

"Every hunt has a measure of danger, Sammy," John replied, facing his son yet again and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You know that."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "It's just…normally you'd at least include me on the research and you aren't taking Dean with you…"

John scrubbed a hand down his face and through his beard. He had followed Dean's lead on this, but he was beginning to feel Sam should know. He could certainly use Sam's help researching the Ojibwa Bearwalker mythology. Although Dean had done a damn fine job, an extra set of eyes never hurt. Truth be told, his youngest excelled at digging up obscure references as he genuinely seemed to enjoy the thrill of the hunt for the smallest details.

However, Dean's reasons made sense. Sam had tests coming up, he still had nightmares about the hunt in Louisiana and there was nothing either of his boys could do until they joined him and Bobby later. A very large part of John did not want either of his boys anywhere near this hunt. They simply did not know enough about the legend and the bodies turning up had been ripped to shreds.

A small part of John worried that if Sam knew what the hunt entailed his natural stubborn streak would manifest into insistence at accompanying him on the hunt right away. Despite Sam's obvious lack of passion for the hunt--something Dean had in spades--he did have a deep-seeded desire to help. If he thought the best way he could help would be by participating in the hunt, he would present his case with logical sounding arguments in a very determined and repetitive manner until John snapped in sheer frustration.

He and Dean had discussed the matter ad nauseam already. Dean had been extremely hard to dissuade from the hunt in Michigan. In the end it had taken a direct order from him and even then Dean had added a stipulation about not telling Sam.

"_Then let him finish out the week, let him take his tests with his head in the game and then we can fill him in on the hunt. If you aren't going to let us be a part of it, there's no use in giving Sammy anything more to worry or have nightmares about until we can help."_

Decision made, John said, "It's Bobby's hunt, I'm just backing him up. I asked Dean to do the research because you still have tests coming up. Despite what you think, I do respect that."

John mentally slapped himself on the forehead. _Why the hell did I feel I needed to add that last part? _

As if on cue, Sam shot back, "I never said you didn't."

The words were out before John could stop them. "Actually you have, repeatedly."

Anger straightened Sam's spine and kept him standing in front of his dad ramrod straight, hands clenched at his sides. "Take care of yourself," he said with a soft voice in direct contrast with his body language. "Stay safe."

Before John could offer a reply, Sam spun on his heel and walked away. The slamming of his bedroom door signaled the end of their conversation. "Well that went well, Johnny," he chastised himself, before he resumed packing.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Rose's bobbed, red-brown hair had a tousled appearance. She wore only enough make-up to accentuate her features and her short black dress clung in all the right places. Dean smiled appreciatively. "You look great."

"Thanks," she replied. Rose gazed appreciatively at the sleek muscle car behind Dean. "That's your car?"

"Yep," Dean replied with a pleased smile. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

"It looks powerful," Rose observed, running her hand along the roof. "So, what do you have planned?"

"Dinner, a walk in Centennial Park or the X-Files movie?" Dean suggested. He opened the passenger door to the Impala.

Rose slipped into the seat, pulling her long legs inside. "I trust you," she replied. The passenger door quietly clicked closed and Dean walked around the front of the car. When he sat down, Rose slid over until her shoulders were pressed against Dean. "Save time for a little fun later?" Rose purred.

Dean smiled and put his arm around Rose. "There's always time for a little fun."

"Glad to hear it," Rose replied, snuggling into Dean's side.

The rest of the drive continued in silence save an occasional twitch and reprimand from Dean when Rose's hand strayed too far up his thigh. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to his dad how he wrecked the Impala, especially since it had only recently been bestowed on him.

"Why don't we stop by the deli, pick up a couple of sandwiches and eat in the park instead?" Rose suggested. "The weather's nice and I'm sure we can find a secluded spot."

"Sounds perfect," Dean replied.

Thirty minutes later, Dean parked the car in a shady spot, grabbed the picnic dinner, a blanket out of the trunk and walked around the car to open the door for Rose. She held out her hand and he helped her out of the car. "Can you walk in the grass with those things?" Dean smirked, jerking his head in the direction of her F-Me Pumps.

"Absolutely," she replied confidently. Dean pressed against her for a quick kiss and grabbed her hand to lead her across the park to a spot under a large shady tree.

He spread out the holey army blanket, sat down and patted a spot next to him on the ground. With a smile, Rose took a step further to move next to him and caught her heel on a large root sending her tumbling into Dean's arms. Rose laughed. "I'm so sorry," she apologized. "Are you okay?"

"It'd take more than you to hurt me," Dean assured her, lifting Rose off his lap and setting her down next to him.

"Good to know," Rose replied. She accepted a sandwich from Dean and peeled back enough of the wrapper to take a bite. "So…what exactly do you do?"

"Freelance work, mainly," Dean replied without missing a beat.

A ball whizzed past his peripheral vision and Dean turned his head to follow it. A family of four, mother, father and two boys were setting up a picnic site. The two boys were throwing a weathered football to each other, the youngest barely able to throw it further than ten feet. Dean estimated him to be only five years old. He remembered Sammy at that age, still innocent to the ways of hunting and always striving to be just like his older brother. He must have missed something Rose had said, because she slapped him on the arm three times.

"I'm sorry I'm not entertaining enough for you," she snapped. "Why don't you take me home?"

"What?" Dean asked, his attention snapping back fully to Rose. "No, I, uh, that kid just reminded me of Sammy when he was younger, that's it. I'm all yours."

"I don't want to play second fiddle tonight to someone who isn't even here," Rose said, poking Dean on the leg to emphasize the last four words. "If you can't stay focused on me for even two minutes this is going to be a very quick and boring evening." She started to stand. "I'm not going to put up with another Danny."

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized, lightly grabbing her arm and pulling her back to the ground. Rose had told him about Danny on their first date. According to Rose he had been controlling and distant.

"I didn't mean to make you feel like you were competing for my attention." He leaned in towards Rose and kissed her slowly, cupping his hand behind her head. When he finally leaned back he maintained eye contact. "But Sam's my little brother, my responsibility and it may happen sometimes."

"You're a wonderful big brother, Dean," Rose gushed. "But for the next three hours I'm going to challenge you to focus on me." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

"I think I can manage that," Dean replied huskily as she pulled away.

"Good."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sam curled around the toilet, his back arched as he heaved the contents of his dinner into the bowl. He had been hoping to avoid getting sick, really sick, but luck evaded him tonight, or rather, this morning. The clock by the bed had read two-thirty before he had abruptly kicked off his blankets and raced to the bathroom. At least Dean had not come home yet and his dad was asleep.

His stomach cramped and Sam mentally prepared for another round which never materialized. He hoped that meant it was over. The gold-flecked, 70's-style linoleum sparkled in mocking contrast to his black mood. When the sour scent of sick reached him, he wrinkled his nose in disgust and leaned away from the basin. Sam flushed the toilet and stood to wash his hands. He did not feel like he had a fever and for that he was grateful. He did not want to miss his tests tomorrow and Dean was not likely to miss a fever.

Slowly Sam made his way back to his room in the dark, so as not to wake his father. The light switching on next to him caused him to blink owlishly and fall back against the wall. "Are you sick, son?" his dad asked.

"Not really," Sam replied, dropping his arm from its place around his middle. "Just something I ate."

John placed a hand on Sam's forehead. "No fever. Think you can handle school in the morning?"

"Yes, sir."

His dad seemed to debate the idea for a moment before nodding his head. "Get some sleep, Sammy."

"Okay," he replied. He searched his father's face and offered what passed as an apology in Winchester-speak. "I'll see you in a week."

John thumped Sam on the shoulder in acknowledgement and closed his bedroom door leaving him in the dark. Before Sam could stumble to his bed, the front door creaked open. Sam recognized the light footfalls of his brother in the front room.

"Can't sleep?" Dean asked in a hushed whisper from other end of the hall. Dean's face loomed directly in front of him only seconds later. "You're still sick?"

"I'm feeling better," Sam contradicted. "Just headed back to bed."

"Are you going to school in the morning?" Dean asked.

Sam tossed him a, 'you've got to be kidding,' look.

"Stupid question," Dean replied dismissively.

The door to their father's bedroom opened again, casting light into the hall. "Dean, let's talk."

"Yes sir," Dean responded and clapped Sam on the back. "Get some sleep." Dean walked past Sam and disappeared into their father's bedroom.

Sam huffed lightly and headed back to bed. He knew their father was giving Dean a final rundown of what he expected done in his absence and perhaps more information on the hunt. He crawled under the covers and curled his legs up towards his chest relieving stretched stomach muscles.

He shivered hoping his body heat would re-warm the blankets quickly. Sam closed his eyes. Only a few hours remained until he would have to get up for school. He tried to will himself to sleep, but he could not stop dwelling on the conversation Dean and Dad were having.

It bothered him that Dean and Dad still treated him like a child, that Dean was no doubt receiving admonitions to watch out for him and being included in decisions that affected all of them. In his head he understood Dean was nineteen and technically an adult, but in his heart Dean was his brother. And in both Sam's head and heart he questioned whether Dean was really more mature than him anyway.

Sam snuggled deeper into his blankets trying to get warm and made a silent resolution not to eat at the diner anytime this week. He did not want to get sick again.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"We'll be there by Monday night for sure," Dean said, sitting down on the corner of his father's bed.

John nodded. "We may have it wrapped up by then. Pastor Jim has offered to let us stay with him after we finish in Michigan. You call me when you get close and I'll let you know whether to join us on Mackinac or in Blue Earth."

"You think you'll already have it wrapped up by then?" Dean asked in a surprised voice. "Does Bobby have a better idea of where the Bearwalker is hunting or who it really is?"

"Nope," John replied succinctly. "But with both of us working on it, it shouldn't take too long."

"You'll call if you need us sooner?" Dean asked.

"I don't think that'll be necessary and besides Bobby said he isn't getting a cell phone signal out in that area. It's pretty remote. I'll call from our motel every night until we head in to the hunting grounds." John replied, tossing his duffel into the corner.

John could see the look on his son's face and it was the look that said he did not like John's plan, but did not want to outwardly argue with him. "Something on your mind, Dean?"

"Do you think you'll be out hunting it before Tuesday?" Dean asked.

"Possibly," John replied. In all honesty, he hoped they would be. He never felt better than when Dean had his back, but they did not know that much about this particular shape-shifter. The father in him, albeit the quieter side to his solider half, did not want his sons anywhere near this hunt.

Indecision flashed on Dean's face before he replied, "We could be there by Sunday night."

John stopped packing, moved closer to his oldest son and dropped his gaze to meet Dean's eyes. He wanted to be certain the message came through clearly. "Don't skip the game, kiddo. You must have worked hard for those tickets."

The look of incredulousness on Dean's face caused John to chuckle. "How'd you…?" Dean asked.

"Do you really think anything goes on in this house that I don't know about?" he asked gruffly. It was total and complete bullshit. He had come across the tickets when he had searched Dean's room looking for one of the first aid kits, but it never hurt to let his boys think he was omniscient.

"I don't like the idea of you hunting without me," Dean stated after pause.

"Careful, you're liable to hurt Bobby's feelings with statements like that," John cautioned.

Dean laughed as John intended. "Then don't tell him. I'd prefer not to be hit with a Bobby surprise attack when we get there. The last time Bobby ended up with a black eye."

"Deal," John agreed, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "Besides, you don't need another concussion either." He turned back to packing, throwing in a last minute weapons change.

"Bobby got in a lucky shot," Dean protested. "When're you leaving?"

"I'll be leaving in less than an hour."

"You be careful, Dad," Dean stated, standing up and heading for the door. He rested a hand on the doorknob when his father called him back. "Yeah?"

"Watch out for your brother," John commanded.

"Yeah Dad," Dean replied, his brow furrowed. "You know I will."

"I know," John acknowledged. He nodded a dismissal to Dean, who took his cue and exited the room. "I appreciate that son more than you know," he added to the empty room.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Rose stormed from her bedroom to the kitchen and pulled a juice glass out of the cupboard. She poured herself two fingers of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. The fiery liquid coursed down her throat and warmed the pit in her stomach.

She gripped the glass tightly in barely restrained anger. She deserved Dean's attention and his little pissant of a brother kept taking it from her. No matter what Dean had said, she knew that the real reason he left was because of Sam.

Rose slammed the glass down on the counter and took satisfaction in the sound of breaking glass and the scattering slivers of tinkling remnants. Pulling several glasses out of the cupboard, she threw them violently against the kitchen wall, the refrigerator, the picture of her parent's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary as glass shrapnel littered the floor, counters and the deep, plush carpeting of her dining room.

She glanced around the room at the devastation her tantrum had caused. She felt rather ridiculous that she had lost control. She needed a plan. One that would keep Dean in town and give her time to show him how much she had to offer. Rose sat for several long minutes toying with idea after idea until the perfect plan of attack formulated in her mind. She smiled at her own brilliance and ran through a mental list of what she needed to do.

Rose stood and headed for the broom closet to start cleaning up the glass. She started sweeping the kitchen floor being careful not to step on any small pieces in her bare feet. She would need to hurry and clean up the mess to have enough time to put her plan into action.

It was then she noticed the blood. Rose examined her hands and discovered a deep cut on her right palm. She released a heavy sigh at the thought of yet another delay. She took a deep, cleansing breath and closed her eyes. After taking another deep breath, Rose opened her eyes and calmly finished sweeping.

TBC

.………..………………………………………………….**Supernatural**………….…………………………………………

As always – Feedback Welcome!

AN: Special thanks to Phx for planting the evil little seeds that grew into this story in the first place. She didn't plant them in my garden, but like everything else in this story – I'm playing with them anyway.


	3. Jealousy is More Self Love Than Love

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **The boys, the metallicar and the concept belong to Kripke and the CW.

**Beta'd: **By the dedicated Wysawyg, who decided to try method beta'ing. I'm glad you are feeling better!

**Warning: **Bit o' language. Dean's got a bit of a potty mouth at times. BG.

**Time Line: **Still June. Still 1998. Dean is nineteen, Sam recently turned fifteen.

…………………………………**Jealousy is More Self-Love Than Love**……………………………….

_Rose stood and headed for the broom closet to start cleaning up the glass. She started sweeping the kitchen floor being careful not to step on any small pieces in her bare feet. She would need to hurry and clean up the mess to have enough time to put her plan into action. _

_It was then she noticed the blood. Rose examined her hands and discovered a deep cut on her right palm. She released a heavy sigh at the thought of yet another delay. She took a deep, cleansing breath and closed her eyes. After taking another deep breath, Rose opened her eyes and calmly finished sweeping. _

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Dean shoved a heaped spoonful of cereal into his mouth and dumped the now empty bowl into the sink. "Come on, Sammy!" Dean called around a mouthful of partial chewed cereal. "Get a move on!"

"I'm almost ready," Sam replied, his voice coming from over Dean's left shoulder as he entered from the living room. He picked up the box of cereal on the counter and gave it a shake. "Did you finish off the cereal?"

"Looks like it," Dean smirked. "You can't always have the last of the Lucky Charms, Sammy." He clapped his little brother on the shoulder on his way past. "Let's go."

"What?" Sam asked. He turned to confront Dean and found he had to jog to catch up to him. He caught up to Dean in the hall and fell into step behind him. "Hey, what did you mean by that?"

Dean didn't answer and Sam nearly ran into him when he stopped abruptly in the exit to the alley. "Dean, move out of the way," Sam sniped. He pushed on his brother's back several times. "Come on."

Dean continued to stand in his way and Sam pushed a little harder assuming his big brother was proving a point about how much stronger or tougher he was. "Jerk," Sam muttered.

"Son of a bitch," Dean whispered.

Sam squeezed past Dean's less resistant form. The sight before him caused him to gasp. "Dean," he breathed. "What happened?" When his brother did not reply, Sam looked back over his shoulder to find Dean still gaping in the doorway.

Dean's face slowly transformed from shock to outrage. "Son of a bitch!" Dean stormed past Sam to the Impala.

Sam watched as Dean knelt down to examine one of two flat tires. "Damn it," Dean muttered. "It'll bend the rims." He straightened and stood for a moment looking at something.

"What is it?" Sam asked, moving closer to the car.

Dean did not answer for several long seconds. "Someone," he finally answered through clenched teeth, "Violated my baby."

Sam wanted to tease Dean about calling the Impala his baby, but the look on Dean's face stopped him before the words left his mouth. He walked around the car to stand next to his brother. Glass littered the dashboard from the broken windshield. "What? Who?"

"Hell if I know, Sam," Dean growled. "But when I find out, and I will find out, they'll regret it." Dean circled the car with slow measured steps taking in all the damage. "All four tires and the windshield – at least the bastards left the paint job alone."

"Can you fix it?" Sam asked. He furrowed his brow looking at the extent of the damage.

"What kind of question is that?" Dean asked. He looked up and shot his brother a look of mock offense. "Of course I can fix it. I'll call Tommy and have him tow the Impala to the garage."

"Good," Sam replied. "Okay, I'll see you after school." He turned to walk away, but was stopped short by a strong tug on his backpack.

"And just how do you think you're getting to school?" Dean asked. "You're not walking."

"Dean, I have finals today," Sam protested. He turned his head towards the sound of an approaching car. "Is that Rose?"

The brown sedan pulled to a stop beside the Impala. "Dean, what happened?" Rose asked, craning her neck to look around Sam.

"Someone trashed my car," Dean stated through barely contained anger. He softened his tone before adding, "What are doing here?"

"You left something at my house," Rose replied. "I thought I'd return it to you before you left town, but it looks like you might be here for awhile."

Dean walked up to the window and Rose handed him something, but Sam could not tell what. "I don't suppose you have time play chauffeur?"

Rose tilted her head, considering Dean's request. "Why not? I've covered for Shelly for the last few days; she can cover for me for half an hour."

"Great," Dean said. He walked around to the passenger seat and gestured to Sam to sit in the back.

Sam scowled, but flopped into the backseat. Dean always managed to ride shot gun if he wasn't driving. He happened to catch Rose's eye watching him through the rearview mirror. "Thanks for the ride," he said, embarrassed he had not already thought to say it.

"Any time," Rose replied with a smile. She glanced over to the passenger seat and asked, "So, where am I taking you, Dean?"

"We're dropping Sam off at Chamberlain," Dean replied. He flipped through the CD case Rose had left on the seat.

"And then am I dropping you back at the apartment?" Rose asked, making an abrupt lane change and squeezing in between a large SUV and a slow moving station wagon filled with five children.

"Actually, Sully's garage is on the way back to the diner. Just drop me off there," Dean replied, replacing the CD case. He held up a single disc between his index and middle finger. "Ya mind?"

"Not at all," Rose replied. "Do you know someone at Sully's?"

"I'm working there," Dean replied as Led Zeppelin filtered through the speakers.

"I thought you said you worked as a freelancer?" Rose replied in a tone that suggested she had caught him in a fabrication.

"I do most of the time," Dean stated. He cracked the passenger window to let in some fresh air. "Right now I happen to be working at the garage."

"You're amazing with your hands," Rose replied suggestively. "It's a good job and I'm sure you're great at it." She smiled, tossing his words back at him.

Sam cleared his throat to remind them he still sat in the backseat. Too much more of this conversation and he would be sick again. Thankfully the school appeared when Rose turned the corner. "You can drop me off here," Sam suggested. "That way you won't get caught in the bus traffic."

Rose pulled over to the side and Sam stepped out of the car. The first of two tests was only minutes away. He would have to run if he had any hope of making it in time. With barely a backwards glance, he ran to the school at top speed and disappeared inside before Rose could turn the car around.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

John pulled his truck over to the side of the road and dialed Dean's cell phone number. By now Dean should be at work, but he had decent cell phone reception and that was not always a guarantee on the back roads of Tennessee. Dean picked up on the third ring.

"_Dad?"_

"Dean, I'm making good time," John stated. "I should be at the motel by midnight."

"_Sam's at school, but we're ready to go if you need us before Monday night."_

Something in Dean's tone suggested there was something he wasn't telling him. "Something else going on?"

Silence came through the line. John could visualize Dean's averted gaze and shuffling stance while he avoided his question. Countless scenarios of what could be wrong ran through John's mind. He needed to know what Dean was avoiding. "Report," John snapped.

"_Someone smashed the windshield on the Impala and slashed the tires." _

John covered the mouthpiece of his cell and sighed deeply with relief. Those boys were going to be the death of him. "Can you fix it?"

"_The tires are already changed. I'll be putting in the new glass this afternoon."_

John could hear the offended tone, but he chose to ignore it. "Damn it, Dean. Did you have it parked out back by that alley again or did it happen when you had Sammy out on some fool's errand God knows where?"

"_It was parked behind the apartment building."_

The hurt in Dean's voice traveled through the airwaves mostly concealed by a no nonsense soldier tone, but John wanted to drive his point home. "And you didn't see or hear anything? You don't have any idea who did it?"

John already regretted leaving his boys alone in Tampa. It was not exactly the safest place to live. He had looked at the crime rate when he had first starting researching the possibility of a vampire nest at Elkins' insistence. John had been correct, there were no vampires in Tampa, but plenty of supernatural activity to keep him occupied for the next three months.

"_No, but I'm working on it."_

"Good. You be careful, son, and keep an eye on your brother," John stated. "Until you know who did it, and why, you consider the perimeter breached and your base camp in jeopardy."

"_Yes, sir." _

"See you both Monday night."

"_Yes, sir." _

John snapped his cell phone shut and slipped it above the visor. Another ten to eleven hours and he would be at the motel. He briefly toyed with the idea of turning the truck around and heading back to Tampa, but he trusted his boys to look out for each other.

He shifted uneasily in the seat trying to restore circulation to his posterior. "I'm getting too old for these marathon driving trips," he complained to the air in general before pulling back onto the road.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean slipped his cell phone back into his coveralls' pocket. He pressed the button to slowly lower the Impala back to the garage floor. He wiped his hands on a rag before tucking it into his back pocket.

"Winchester!" a voice called from behind him. Dean turned to face the Harv, the day supervisor, striding towards him.

"Yeah?"

"You got a visitor. Real pretty thing. She's in the break room," Harv informed him.

"Thanks," Dean replied and walked back to the employee break room.

Rose sat on the only table in the small room. Her legs were crossed, but it barely concealed whatever she had on underneath a very short, red leather skirt. Rose was bubbling animatedly to Tom who bobbed his head in response.

"Dean!" Rose squealed. She hopped down off the table and rushed over to Dean, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the tiled floor.

She enveloped Dean in a hug. Dean briefly returned the gesture before backing away. "What're you doing here? I thought you had to work?"

Rose pursed her lips in a crimson pout. "I did, I do, but I took my lunch break to bring you something to eat. I know you can't get away today."

"You're the best," Dean replied, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "What'd you bring me?"

"A man's food, no salad." She twisted behind her and grabbed a to-go box. Giving it a little shake she waved it under Dean's nose. "Burger and fries," she sing-songed.

Dean lunged for the box and Rose stumbled backwards in an attempt to escape. Dean wrapped an arm around her waist and prevented her from falling. "You really need to stop wearing those things," he commented, nodding his head towards her pumps.

"It's okay as long as I have you around," Rose cooed.

"Rose," Dean started, his tone conveying an apology before he voiced it. "You know…"

"Don't say anything," Rose said, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. "I understand."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sam stumbled over his own feet and dropped two books on the ground. His tripping feet kicked them off the sidewalk and into the grass towards three Junior girls who huddled together talking.

One of them Sam recognized from his trigonometry class. Jennifer. She was talking animatedly to her friends. "So he called me and said, 'Like why are you being so rude?' and I said, 'Like, I'm not being rude,' and he said, 'Like no, really, why?' and I said, 'Like I'm not,' and then he like went all ballistic or something because he thought I was being rude."

Sam picked up his books hoping none of the girls noticed his less than graceful exit from the school. "Sam!" a female voice from behind him called. Sam stood up and sighed softly. No such luck.

"Kelly," Sam acknowledged. Stowing the books in his backpack, he fell into step beside the perky blonde from his AP Lit class. Kelly's intelligence was matched by the speed and depth of her speech and vocabulary. Sam enjoyed her company, but knew a lot of guys found her intimidating even if they would only admit it to themselves.

"How do you think you did on the final?" she asked, following him down the street towards the bus stop.

"I think I did okay," Sam replied, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"I thought I did too until the twenty-third question," Kelly stated at warp speed. "I could only remember nine allegorical references between 'Romeo and Juliet' and 'A West Side Story.' I finally came up with the chapel scene, but…well, what did you put down?"

"That was one," Sam confirmed. "You worry too much. I'm sure you aced it, as usual."

Kelly punched him playfully on the arm. "Look who's talking! Hey, isn't that your brother?"

Sam squinted in the direction Kelly pointed. "Yeah, it is. See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Sam."

Sam approached the Impala taking in the brand new tires and the exceptionally clean new windshield. He squinted, focusing on the windshield as he drew closer. It was really clean, too clean. Sam waved his hand at Dean through the open space where glass should be.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean grumbled. "Get in."

Sam laughed and slid into the passenger seat. He reached around and tossed his much lighter backpack into the rear seat. They had turned in all of their books today. Tomorrow would simply be the announcement of test grades and general goofing off.

"Where are we headed?" Sam asked, noticing Dean had not turned towards the apartments.

"I'm hungry," Dean explained.

Sam sank lower into the passenger seat and covered his stomach out of reflex. "I'm not," he grumbled even as his traitorous stomach growled.

"That so?" Dean asked, cocking one eyebrow at Sam.

Sam sighed. "Well, I'm not hungry enough to eat at the Iron Skillet."

"Just coffee and pie, Francis," Dean insisted. "No one can screw up coffee and pie."

Sam shot Dean a look of disbelief and continued to slouch in the passenger seat.

"We can order pizza tonight." Dean continued, "And I'll fill you in on Dad's hunt."

Sam straightened in the seat. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, pulling the Impala to a stop in the diner parking lot. "Really."

"Sounds great," Sam replied. He tried to stop himself from grinning as he walked into the diner behind Dean knowing he would finally find out what Dad and Bobby were facing. He rubbed his rumbling stomach absent-mindedly. He would eat after all because Dean was right. No one could screw up coffee and pie.

TBC

…………………………………………………………**Supernatural**…………………………………………………….

As always – feedback welcome.

AN: Yeah for new episodes!!

The conversation Sam overheard Jennifer have is a real conversation that I overheard a sixteen-year-old girl have with her friends recently while standing in line at our local convenience store. LOL. Looking back (way back) to high school I do remember using the word, 'like' a great deal.

I simply could not resist using it. No will-power girl, that's me!

:D


	4. Jealousy is Blind

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **Not even close to mine. Poo.

**Beta'd: **By the ever lovely and incomparable Wysawyg. Thank you for catching the time/space continuum anomaly the boys traveled through. Oy vey.

**Time Line: **Early June 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam recently turned fifteen.

…………………………………**It is not Love that is Blind, but Jealousy**…………………………………

"_Just coffee and pie," Dean insisted. "No one can screw up coffee and pie."_

_Sam shot Dean a look of disbelief and continued to slouch in the passenger seat._

"_We can order pizza tonight." Dean continued, "And I'll fill you in on Dad's hunt."_

_Sam straightened in the seat. "Really?"_

"_Yeah," Dean replied, pulling the Impala to a stop in the diner parking lot. "Really."_

"_Sounds great," Sam replied. He tried to stop himself from grinning as he walked into the diner behind Dean knowing he would finally find out what Dad and Bobby were facing. He rubbed his rumbling stomach absent-mindedly. He would eat after all because Dean was right. No one could screw up coffee and pie. _

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Dean watched Sam pour a sugar waterfall into his coffee mug. "Dude, you're turning that into hummingbird food," he quipped.

Sam scowled. "It's bitter." He stirred the beige contents, took another sip and smiled.

"Wuss."

"Jerk."

"Dean," Rose interrupted. "Here's your pie." She placed a plate of Dutch apple pie a la mode in front of him and handed him a fork. "It's fresh this morning."

"Thanks," Dean replied, gracing her with a megawatt smile. He scooped a mountain of apple pie dripping with ice cream snow onto his fork and pointed it at his little brother. "You sure you don't want a piece, Sam?"

"I'm positive," Sam assured him, taking another sip of coffee. His hazel eyes flitted from Dean to Rose.

Dean swiveled in the booth to face Rose. "We're good," he stated, trying to hint for Rose to leave. He wanted to talk to Sam about the hunt.

Rose shifted from one foot to the other as if debating whether or not to say something. "I meant to ask. Did you get your car fixed?"

Dean shot his brother an annoyed glance knowing he would find Sam trying to suppress a grin. Right as usual. He turned back to Rose. "Ah no, had some trouble with the new windshield. I'll be able to get it in tomorrow morning before we leave."

Rose frowned. "You're leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, furrowing his brow. "I thought you understood that."

"No," she popped off, before softening her tone. "I mean, I thought you were leaving Saturday. I was kind of hoping…"

Dean stood up, put an arm around her shoulders and led her away from the table. "I'm sorry, Rose. Sam and I are packing up tonight and we're leaving tomorrow around noon. We stopped in here so I could tell you good-bye."

Rose shrugged out of his embrace. "Don't do me any favors, Dean," she stated petulantly. She huffed the bangs off her forehead and pushed him away.

She turned to leave, but Dean stopped her short with a hand on her arm. "Rose, I uh, I'm sorry if you thought…" Dean started.

"I didn't think anything, Dean," Rose insisted, tugging her arm free. She whirled to face him. "I just thought maybe you'd have time to spare before you left. I should have known better."

Dean gave her an appraising look, not quite sure he understood what she meant by her last statement. "You're a beautiful, fun woman, Rose, but I can't."

Rose schooled her emotions and her face settled on a carefully neutral expression. "It's fine, Dean. You know I only wanted a little fun."

Dean could not stop the look of disbelief that spread across his face. "Hey, I'm sorry."

Rose's lips upturned in a small, sad smile and she stepped closer to Dean. "Really, it's fine. I'll miss you though."

"Yeah, same here. Take care of yourself." Dean leaned in and gave Rose a quick peck on the cheek. Before he could pull away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for an embrace. After a few moments, Dean slowly extricated himself and returned to the booth.

He slid into the bench seat and caught Sam wiping a smirk off his face. "What?"

"That seemed to go well," Sam commented, the smirk reappearing with dimples in tow.

"Yeah, well no one can resist the Dean Winchester charm when I turn it on," Dean quipped.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Or maybe she isn't all that broken up about you leaving," he suggested.

"Are you kidding me, Sammy?" Dean asked. "I'm sure she's already missing me." He shoveled another heaping forkful of pie into his mouth.

Sam huffed in disbelief before turning serious. "You were going to tell me about the hunt?"

Dean set his fork down and swallowed before he answered, "Bearwalker."

Sam furrowed his brow and tilted his head. "The legendary Ojibwa skinwalkers?"

Dean raised an eyebrow in surprise. Only his trusty sidekick, geek-boy, would know the obscure legend off the top of his head. "Yeah."

Sam's eyes darted, a sure sign that his mind was busy churning through the Sammy database. "What's he going to use to kill it?"

"Same thing that works on every shapeshifter and skinwalker we've ever encountered."

"Silver bullet to the heart," both Winchester echoed simultaneously.

"So, how do they plan to counteract the paralyzing effect?" Sam asked, his concerned hazel eyes stopping their frantic memory scan and focusing on Dean.

"The what now?" Dean asked. He washed down the remaining bite of pie with a mouthful of tepid coffee.

"The paralyzing effect," Sam repeated. He pushed his nearly empty cup of coffee to the side, rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Bearwalkers are said to be capable of paralyzing their prey with a mere thought. Tell me they knew about it."

"They will," Dean reassured him, suddenly very glad he had told his little brother about the hunt tonight instead of after school tomorrow as planned. "We'll catch them before they head out."

Sam nodded and sat back against the vinyl booth seat in relief. "I don't know how to counteract the effect or avoid it," he confessed, failure evident in his tone.

"Hey, forewarned is forearmed, little brother," Dean reassured him. "Besides, you have all evening to figure it out." Rather than take it as an attempt to lighten his mood as Dean intended, he saw Sam's face turn decidedly grim and determined.

"Dean, promise me you won't do this again," Sam pleaded.

"Do what again?" Dean asked, truly perplexed. What was going through his little brother's mind now?

"Keep things from me that pertain to Dad," Sam explained. "He's my dad too. You need to trust me."

"It has nothing to do with trust, Sam," Dean contradicted. "I wanted you to be able to focus on your tests without being distracted."

Dean watched as Sam's face ran the gambit of emotions. Confusion flitted quickly by, followed by an annoyed set of his jaw and finally understanding settled in his eyes. Sam always had been a quick study. "I appreciate that, Dean. But don't keep a secret from me just because you think I can't handle it. I want to know. Promise me."

Dean remained silent. He could not promise he wouldn't keep a secret or a hurtful truth from Sam if he thought it would spare him from worry or pain. "You ready to go?" he asked finally.

"Dean…" Sam started, the protest dying on his lips at the look of resolve on Dean's face. "Yeah, I should get started on the research right away," Sam finished instead, sliding out of the booth before Dean had even finished pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Rose surreptitiously watched the Winchester brothers leave from a spot behind the counter. Dean and Sam had obviously been joking around at first, enjoying easy banter the way close siblings do.

She had been secretly a little pleased when it became apparent Sam was not happy with Dean. She had hoped it would mean either the brothers would choose not to spend time together tonight leaving Dean available after all, or that her original plan of keeping Dean company while he took care of a sick Sam would be possible.

When the conversation ended, however, Dean and Sam seemed to be fine. In fact, Dean had clapped Sam on the shoulder on their way out and Sam had smiled in return so all must have been forgiven. And after Dean's final good-bye she did not dare show up at his apartment uninvited.

Rose frowned. Slashing the tires on Dean's car had not slowed him down in the least. Even breaking the windshield only seemed to be a minor annoyance. She did not think she'd be able to do it again tonight without getting caught. Dean had been very angry about it this morning and, based on what he had told her on the way to the garage, he would have his eyes open tonight waiting for the perpetrators to return.

She filled the coffee cup of one of the regulars seated at the counter and continued to fume over Dean's obsessive devotion to his family. Time and time again he had brushed her off with excuses about his dad or his brother needing him. She had only managed to wrangle two real dates from the man in the entire five week period she had been trying to get Dean's attention.

The night she had spent talking with him at the apartment had not been an actual date and Dean had been distracted by taking care of a sick Sam. Rose caught a flash of the Impala as it drove past the diner and rolled her eyes, annoyed that it was up and running so quickly.

Rose's frown slowly turned into a smile. The damage to his car had not managed to keep him in town, but there was more than one way to get Dean Winchester's attention.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean stated, opening the door to the bathroom and grimacing at the smell.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, his voice muffled by thick porcelain.

Dean ran a wash cloth under cold water and wrung it out. As Sam heaved again, he placed it on the back of Sam's neck and rested his hand on his brother's back. "No school tomorrow," Dean stated when his brother finished.

"'Kay," Sam whispered past tortured vocal chords.

Dean felt his brother's back muscles tremble from exertion. Sam started shivering violently and when he looked up at Dean his chalky white face glistened with sweat. He pushed wet bangs off his brother's forehead, feeling for a fever and finding none. "You done?"

"Think so," Sam replied weakly.

"Good. Then back to bed, Sparky," Dean stated.

Sam nodded in response. Dean noticed Sam allowed him to pull him to his feet and offered no resistance as Dean steered him back to bed. He left Sam on the bed and went across the hall to steal blankets off their dad's unused bed.

By the time he returned, Sam had cocooned himself in a ball of cotton blankets. A sprig of Sam's brown hair poked out the top of the mountain of covers that quivered from the occupant's shivering. Sam had a tendency to run cold on the best of days, but when he was sick it multiplied tenfold.

Dean spread the extra blankets over Sam and heard a muffled response that he assumed was a thank you. "You're welcome, Sammy."

Dean grabbed the wastebasket and set it down on the floor next to Sam. It never hurt to play it safe when it came to preventing the need to clean up a pile of sick. He lay down on the bed across from his little brother and crossed his arms behind his head.

In the morning he would fix the windshield on the Impala. Tonight he would stay awake and wait for the assholes that had trashed his baby to return and watch over his little brother who seemed intent on relinquishing all of his stomach's contents to the sewer system.

Sam moaned in his sleep, but did not awaken. Dean flipped onto his side and watched the ball of blankets that contained his brother move up and down with Sam's breathing. Something was going on with his little brother.

Sam may be sensitive, but his stomach usually wasn't. He wondered if Sam could be coming down with the flu, but it had hit too sporadically throughout the course of a few weeks. It seemed much more likely that it was driven by stress. That he could believe.

Sam moaned again and Dean padded over to him. Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains casting barely enough light to see Sam. Although his brother seemed restless, he didn't seem to be waking up.

Dean walked out to the kitchen and pulled back the curtain. The sleek, unmarred form of the Impala was visible under the streetlight. He prowled the perimeter of the small apartment, his senses on high alert. He could not put his finger on it, but something just wasn't right.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Sam."

"Sam."

"Sammy!"

"G'way," Sam mumbled, pulling the covers over his head.

"Sam, I gotta go," Dean said. "Come on, wake up. I need to talk to you."

Sam abruptly tossed the covers off to his waist and squinted up at his big brother. "What?"

"I need to go to Sully's and install the windshield," Dean stated, sitting down next to Sam. "Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. "I'll be fine." He started to pull the blankets back up over his head when Dean ripped them out of his hand. He glared up at Dean.

"I'm serious, Sam."

The look in Dean's eyes spoke volumes. "Yeah, Dean. I'll be fine. I'm just going to sleep."

"That's good," Dean replied, patting him on the shoulder. "You sleep and I'll be home around nine or ten."

"Although," Sam added, sitting up and bracing his back on the wall. "I may shower."

Dean furrowed his brow in an unspoken question and Sam continued. "Yeah, it's pretty dangerous too. I could slip on the soap, bang my head, knock myself unconscious and drown in only an inch of water. Sad really."

"Funny. You're a funny guy," Dean shot back with a grin. The grin disappeared and Dean stood up to tower over his brother. "Don't go anywhere and don't answer the door."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. Dad being gone always threw Dean into over protective mode. "Sure."

"I mean it, Sam."

"I know," Sam replied, crawling out of bed. His gray sweatpants hung low on his hips. He pulled them up, but they fell back in place. Frustrated, he straightened his twisted t-shirt and tugged it down instead. "I'll be fine. Go."

He followed Dean out to the living room and flopped down on the lumpy sofa, tired from the short journey. "Keep the door locked," Dean stated, poking his head back in the door.

"Go!"

The door slammed shut and Sam sighed. He had called his dad last night to inform him of what he had discovered regarding the Bearwalkers. It hadn't been much, but at least he felt like he had helped a little bit.

He and Dean would be leaving tonight for Michigan and in only sixty hours they would meet up with Bobby and Dad. Sixty hours from now he would have his brother back instead of the pit bull guard dog who had just left. Well, at least the guard dog would be back in his kennel instead of barking like a maniac in the front yard at anyone who foolishly passed by.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean walked out the door of the apartment and fished the keys to the Impala out of his jean's pocket. The tinny ring of his cell phone buzzed in his inside jacket pocket. Flipping open the phone, he pressed it to his ear using his shoulder as he pulled the door closed. "Dean," he announced simply.

The deep barking tone of his father's voice crackled through the phone. _"Dean, we're headed out this morning." _

"You found it?" Dean asked, exchanging his left hand for his shoulder on the phone. He started down the concrete stairway in the back of the building to head towards alley parking and his cell phone emitted a static protest. He quickened his steps and emerged, squinting against the morning sun as his father's voice boomed through the cleared reception.

"…_May be out of contact a few days if we find it…"_

"Dad?" Dean looked at the cell phone readout – four bars. "I missed some of what you said."

"_We have a lead, but we don't know where the hunting ground is exactly. I may be out of contact for a few days if we find it." _The clipped voice spoke volumes to Dean. Dad and Bobby had found enough of a lead and he was impatient to begin the hunt. As if in anticipation of Dean's response his dad added, _"I'll expect to see you boys Monday night." _

_Message received, Dad. _"Yes sir."

"_Take care of your brother and don't get any more speeding tickets on the way up here."_

_You be careful too, Dad. _"Yes sir." The line went dead and he pocketed his mobile.

The Impala started with a satisfying roar and he pulled out of the alley and onto the main drag. With a flick of his wrist, Kansas filtered through the speakers as 'Dust in the Wind' filled the previously empty airwaves. Dean rested one arm on the frame of the open window and tapped out the beat on the steering wheel with the other, the ring on his finger clinking lightly every third beat or so.

At the stoplight, he lifted his eyebrows and smiled at two women in a convertible red 325 BMW. The blonde passenger stood up and leaned out of the car towards Dean. When the light changed, her friend stepped on the gas causing her to fall partially out of the car. The blonde righted herself and slapped her friend on the shoulder. Dean smirked and turned right towards Sully's garage.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Called Dean – Let's go," John announced stepping out of the motel room.

"We've got to take a ferry out to the island," Bobby stated, tossing his bag into the back of the truck. "There's no motorized vehicles allowed."

John shook his head. He had only agreed to this hunt because of Bobby. Leaving his sons in Florida while he investigated a hunt all the way in Michigan did not put his parental mind at ease. Too many things could go wrong and he was too far away to be much help. He trusted Dean to take care of everything despite what had happened and it wasn't as if he had never left the boys for days while he hunted before. However, he usually hunted nearby and somehow the sheer lack of proximity sent his nerves jangling.

He pushed aside any feelings of doubt and climbed into Bobby's truck. They had agreed, John would leave his truck at the motel and they would take Bobby's old heap out to the ferry.

"You're quiet," Bobby said, his gruff voice breaking the silence. "You raised a couple of smart, capable boys, John. Trust them a little."

"I trust them," John countered. "It's the rest of the world that's unpredictably evil."

Bobby nodded. "Truer words have never been spoken." He rubbed a hand thoughtfully through his grizzled beard and pushed his cap up his forehead. "You gonna be able to keep your head in the game, Johnny?"

John cast Bobby a hard glare. "What kind of stupid ass question is that?"

"One that needed asking," Bobby replied, unafraid despite the dangerous tone of John's question. "You're a hell of hunter, but somewhere deep down, very deep down in that military man is a father."

"You know what, Singer?" John asked waiting until Bobby gave him a sidelong glance from his place in the driver's seat. "You're an ass."

Bobby chuckled, threw the gear into reverse and backed out of the motel parking lot. "Been accused of a lot worse."

"I've no doubt about that," John mumbled under his breath. Dust from the motel parking lot followed them down the road on an early morning summer breeze and Conway Twitty warbled Blue Grass from the eight-track player in Bobby's beat up Chevy. John crossed his arms and settled back into the lumpy seat. He had his head in the game. This wasn't his first tour of duty and he did not need Bobby Singer questioning his ability to remain focused.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Rose watched Dean leave in the Impala from a hidden spot down the alley. She pulled her car forward and found a parking spot near the rear entrance of his apartment building. She glanced at her watch. She did not know how long it took to replace a windshield, but she figured she had a couple of hours anyway.

She mentally ran through her list and could not think of anything she had forgotten. She exited the car and closed the door as quietly as possible. Rose climbed the stairs leading to the Winchester's apartment. It was time to get Dean's attention. _I tried everything else, Dean, _she thought. _This is your doing._

She paused for a moment outside the door to the apartment, her heart beating rapidly. She could still change her mind. Rose set her jaw in determination. This was the only option left to her. She steeled her resolve and knocked resolutely on the door.

TBC

……………………………………………………….**Supernatural**………………………………………………………

As always – Feedback welcome!

AN: This chapter is being posted a little early simply because – well, simply because it is finished and as I've stated before – no willpower girl, that's me! But I make no promises the next chapter will be out sooner than normal. LOL.

AN2: Okay folks, I hate to report that according to TV Guide(dot)com our show's season premiere was DOWN 800,000 viewers from last year's season premiere. Talk to your friends. Make sure they are watching or setting the DVR to record on Thursdays. Oh, I know they can't tell what everyone is watching, but you never know who is a Nielson family. :)

Did any of you notice the fans' postcard drive actually made it into the Supernatural Season One Companion Book? Woo Hoo :D

They know we're out there – let's prove it to them!

Go Team Winchester!


	5. Jealousy and Love are Brothers

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **The boys, the metallicar and the concept belong to Kripke not me.

**Beta'd: **By a wonderful author and friend, Wysawyg. Thanks for taking the time to beta for me when I know you have your own stories brewing.

_I had homework after she beta'd, so as usual any remaining errors are mine and mine alone._

**Special Thanks: **To Carocali for finding out in two seconds a crucial factoid for me. I'm sure you saved me at least an hour of research time. :)

**Extra Special Thanks: **To the anonymous reviewers I was so remiss in not thanking in the last chapter. I appreciate the feedback and I hope you continue to read!

**Time Line: **Early June, 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam recently turned fifteen.

..…………………………………….**Jealousy and Love are Brothers**……………………………………….

_She mentally ran through her list and could not think of anything she had forgotten. She exited the car and closed the door as quietly as possible. Rose climbed the stairs leading to the Winchester's apartment. It was time to get Dean's attention. I tried everything else, Dean, she thought. This is your doing._

_She paused for a moment outside the door to the apartment, her heart beating rapidly. She could still change her mind. Rose set her jaw in determination. This was the only option left to her. She steeled her resolve and knocked resolutely on the door._

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam stood in the bathroom, his head resting on the cool, white tiled wall, waiting for the shower to heat up. The water had just reached the perfect temperature when he heard a loud knocking at the door. Sam sighed and slipped back into his sweats. He did not bother to turn off the shower when he exited the bathroom. He shut the door behind him to preserve heat and trudged to the living room to let his big brother back into the apartment. One of these days, Dean would remember everything on the first trip.

"Did you forget your keys or are you just testing me?" Sam asked as he opened the door wide. He expected to see Dean, frowning at him for disobeying his orders. What he did not expect to see was Rose with a smile on her lips. "I, I'm sorry you just missed Dean," he stammered, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I know," Rose replied, stepping closer to him. She hovered only inches from him and slowly unzipped her purse. "May I come in?"

Sam stood, blocking the doorway, conflicted as to whether or not he should let Rose into the apartment. Dean knew Rose, but somehow he still did not think his brother would approve and he thought it odd that she wanted to come in without Dean here. He'd always had the distinct impression she did not care much for him. "I don't think…" he started.

The slamming of a door down the hallway drew his attention away from Rose. The next instant, a blinding pain shot through his body and useless legs refused to hold him upright. He heard Rose shout his name, but he could not formulate a coherent response. He did not know what had happened, but it scared him. He couldn't think and that alone sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. He couldn't move either and yet he could feel his body twitching.

The pain returned again and this time, it jumbled his thoughts as well. He could see the carpet beneath him, but the name of the color and the feel of it against his cheek defied description. He felt two pair of hands lifting him by the arms, but he couldn't protest. Before he really knew what had happened he found himself being hoisted off the ground and dragged forward. He tilted crazily to one side, his frame not fully supported by the shorter of the two people.

Uncooperative bare feet tried to keep up with the motion, but they tangled and tripped him. He felt his hip connect with the metal handrail leading downstairs and he mildly noted the lack of any sensation.

He did not want to go outside, but his feeble attempts to stop it did not even slow down the progress. "Nuh," he managed past slowly awaking lips.

"It's okay, Sam," Rose murmured.

He heard a click and as he listed slowly to the side he connected with something solid, his head bouncing once before resettling. Voices outside the bubble in which he floated sounded like Rose in duet with a deeper, harmonious rumble.

"Dean?"

"Not yet," Rose answered from his left, startling him.

"Is he going to be alright?" the rumbling voice asked.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. I'm taking him straight to the hospital," Rose replied. "Thank you." The engine started and moments later Sam felt the car move forward.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and turned his head to squint at the driver. It wasn't Dean and he did not want to go somewhere with Rose or anyone else. Fumbling fingers tried to unbuckle the safety belt before the forward motion abruptly stopped and Sam was thrown forward.

He felt something cool encircle his wrist. It pulled him farther to the right, pressing his head tightly against the glass. He did not like the confining nature of this new position and he lodged a moaning protest. Fingers in his hair caused him to startle and his head made contact with the window once again. "No," he groaned.

"Easy there, sport," Rose chided, removing the offending hand. "Your brain is a little scrambled already. No use adding to it."

As the car glided into motion a feeling of dread settled over Sam, something wasn't right and now Dean would be righteously pissed when he found out Sam had opened the door without checking first. "Sorry," he whispered, his apology lost on deaf ears.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

"Thanks, for the advance, Harv," Dean said, pocketing the cash advance on his last paycheck. "And thanks for the help. The new glass fits perfectly."

"You're a good mechanic, Dean," Harv replied, unzipping his coveralls to the waist and pulling his arms free. He wiped greasy hands onto his now exposed white t-shirt. "It's a shame you're leaving."

"Sorry about that," Dean apologized. He tossed his overalls into the dirty bin and sat down on a hard plastic chair to slip his boots back on. "But my dad needs me up North. Family and all."

"Yeah, that's family for you," Harv tossed off. "My aunt Penny still calls me about once a month asking me to come over and fix something, never have been able to turn her down, not once in the last thirty years."

"That's because you're a sucker for a damsel in distress," Dean laughed, slugging Harv in the shoulder. "How many times have you given discounts and free labor to the women who come in here?"

"If that isn't a case of the pot calling the kettle black," Harv replied. He picked up his cup of coffee off the narrow ledge of the window that looked out into the garage. He took a gulp and drained the contents. "How many pretty ladies have you helped?"

"It's not important," Dean stated firmly. He walked past Harv and poured himself a coffee. "At least anything I did was small enough I didn't have to cover the expense out of my own pocket."

"Right, that's why you worked all those double shifts fixing old lady Henderson's transmission," Harv teased. He crumpled the paper cup, aimed for the wastebasket next to the coffee pot and banked a shot off the wall, the cup falling neatly into the can.

Dean raised an eyebrow and nodded in appreciation of Harv's break room basketball skill. "Hey, that old lady had a jar of nine nails in her trunk. I think she put some kind of hoodoo spell on me."

"Uh-huh," Harv laughed. He rubbed a hand thoughtfully over the glossy finish of his balding head. "It had nothing to do with the slinky, black dress her granddaughter wore."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean said, before tossing his cup in the trash and starting out the door. He turned back towards Harv and popped off, "I'm a model of self-restraint."

"Yeah and I'm a model for GQ," Harv laughed, running his hands over a potbelly paunch.

"Even Dianne wouldn't be able feed that delusion," Dean said, his eyebrows climbing up into his hairline. "And she loves you."

"Get out of here, Winchester," Harv insisted. "Take care of yourself."

"You too," Dean said with a nod. He reached into his pocket for the keys to his car. There was time to take her for a test spin before heading home to pick up Sam.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

John whistled one note, loud and sharp to get Bobby's attention. The older man looked up from where he knelt on one knee examining animal prints along a row of berry bushes. John motioned for Bobby and the other man came over, a scowl on his face. "What'd ya find?" Bobby asked.

"Bear tracks," John stated simply. "Looks like we were right about the general area this thing has been hiding in."

"Yep," the ever-succinct Bobby replied. "S'pose we should set up that camp site after all."

"I hate camping," John said apropos of Bobby's suggestion. "At least tell me you packed the coffee and none of that freeze-dried crap."

"You're doing more growling than that bear." Bobby snapped. He walked a few paces ahead and searched the area for more signs of the bearwalker versus a normal bear. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he returned to where John stood. "Don't see no other sign of it," he stated. "Tell you what, you set up camp tonight and I'll make my famous green chili omelets for breakfast."

"You just don't want to set up that tent again," John replied. "How long did it take you to set that up last time?"

"Never mind," Bobby grumbled, walking away from John. "You're on your own for breakfast and just for that, you can get up early and brew your own coffee too."

"Don't be mad, Bobby," John stated, dropping in to line behind his friend and fellow hunter. "It isn't your fault a family of squirrels thought that lop-sided monstrosity of tent looked like a rotted, fallen log."

"Shut up, Winchester," Bobby groused, increasing the speed and length of his stride. John Winchester certainly knew how to find a sore spot and pick at it.

"Think those herb satchels are going to help?" John asked abruptly changing the topic. He had been proud of Sam's quick research, but the odd array of herbs and minerals tucked into the leather pouch seemed an unlikely repellent to a possibly angry shaman with a grudge to settle.

"As much as anything might," Bobby stated, slowing his pace again. John bringing up the Chippewa counter charm at this moment seemed like he was trying to say more than he was. "You want to go back to the motel tonight so you can call your boys? We don't really have enough to go on to justify the need to spend the night here."

"No, but it is our best shot at catching sight of it," John replied. "We stay here." The command issued, John shot out ahead of Bobby headed for the camping area only a few hundred paces away.

"Never said it wasn't our best shot," Bobby muttered under his breath. "Just thought you might want to talk to your boys. My mistake." He stared at John's quickly disappearing back. "Stubborn ass." With a shake of his head, he picked up his speed once again to catch up to John. He was certain of one thing: John could set up the tent this go around.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dean walked in through the door and tossed the keys to the Impala on the small side table by the door. "Sam! You ready to go?" He headed for the bedroom to wake Sam. He was glad Sam had finally been able to sleep.

Halfway down the hall he heard the shower running. Pausing at the bathroom, he rapped on the hollow wood door. "Hurry up in there, Sammy!" He did not wait for a response, but continued down the hall to the bedroom.

With skill honed by years of solid practice, Dean swept the room looking for missed items in their late night packing effort. The drawers, under the bed, in the dark recesses of the walk in closet and tangled up in the mountain of blankets still piled on his little brother's bed. He found a pair of women's hot pink panties in the closet. He had no idea how they had missed those when they moved in, but he was a hundred percent certain Sammy hadn't managed to get his hands anywhere near a pair of girl's underwear and he had never seen them before in his life.

Satisfied nothing else had been missed; Dean grabbed the duffel bags, walked out to the living room and tossed them on the faded, misshapen sofa. A quick check of the remaining rooms and Dean was ready to head out. The superintendent had given them an extra day without rent, but he wanted to spend the night in Miami to shorten the drive before the game.

_What the hell is taking Sam so long in the bathroom? _Dean strode down the hall and banged on the bathroom door. "Hey, Sammy!" he called. "I'm sure you're as fresh as a daisy and as wrinkled as an eighty-year-old man." He smirked at his own joke, but when there was no response from his little brother, Dean knocked again.

"Come on, Sam!" Dean called again, frustration leaking into his voice. "You've got five minutes!" He grabbed the duffel bags on his pass through the living room and took them down to the Impala. He hoped Sam had taken a change of clothes into the bathroom with him, because he was not running down here to fetch them for his brother. A trip down to the Impala in a towel would teach Sam to hurry.

He felt a momentary rush of guilt wash over him. Sam could still be sick. In fact, maybe that explained why he had not responded to Dean's calls. He grabbed Sam a spare set of clothes and slammed the trunk lid closed. Taking the stairs two at a time, he bounded back into the apartment. "Sam!" Dean shouted through the door. "Sam, answer me or I'm coming in there."

The shower continued to run and Sam did not respond. Dean tapped his fingers on the door frame several times debating his next move. He did not really want to burst in on Sam in the shower, but damn it, the kid should not be testing him right now. Not after his little quip earlier this morning about drowning in the shower. "That's it, I'm coming in!"

He lifted his leg to kick the door, but at the last moment tested the knob and it gave easily. He expected steam to envelope him, his little brother to shout at him to leave him alone or at the very least for Sam to finally turn off the shower. He slipped on a fine layer of water on the floor. He leaned in closer to the shower and discovered a slow, nearly invisible steam of water seeping over the lip of the shower.

"Sam?" Dean asked. Worry etched lines of concern into his face. He slid the shower door open afraid of what he would see. He never expected to find it empty. Panic fluttered in his chest and his heart stuttered to a stop. Where the hell was Sam?

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Rose washed her face and frowned as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Even make up would not completely cover the blossoming bruise on her left cheek. The hand-cuffed Sam had still seemed disoriented on the trip from the garage to the basement door and she had underestimated him. He had whirled to face her without warning and landed a kick to her head. Only the fact that he had bare feet kept her nose from breaking. She had been forced to use the Taser again and he had fallen in a heap in front of the basement door.

Although young and thin, Sam was heavier than she had anticipated and she had struggled to pull him away from the door. She had opted to simply pull him down the stairs by grabbing Sam under the arms and allowing gravity to do all the hard work.

He had been lucid enough to stumble to the mattress on the floor she had guided him towards. Although he had protested when she had released his right hand from the cuffs and secured the opposite end to a newly installed metal ring on the concrete wall.

She had knelt down next to him and leaned in close to his face, before channeling her father. "Don't fuss too much, Sam. You try anything like that again and I'll give you something to really be upset about."

His hazel eyes had widened at her words and Rose remembered thinking she could really see the family resemblance in their eyes. The shades of green were different; Dean's a deep, jade green while Sam's blue-green seemed to change with his emotions. Right now they were dark, nearly brown in the dim light. But the intensity of both brothers' gaze was equal. She had never noticed that before and it surprised her. Dean was obviously the far superior choice.

He had asked her what she had hoped to accomplish, cautioned her that his big brother was a force to be reckoned with, told her to go to hell and all the while she had let him rant. She did not intend to satisfy his curiosity and yet she did not feel particularly compelled to humor his behavior. She had slapped him, hard, when he had sworn at her.

"Shut up, Sam. Don't make me gag you too."

She had left him then. Simply turned away from his gaping face and walked up the stairs. She had turned off the lights, throwing him into utter darkness due to the newly installed shutters on the basement windows. Let him stew for awhile, she only needed him until she could convince Dean to stay. After that he could go with his father, but in the meantime he did not have to enjoy her hospitality.

Rose sighed and opened the medicine cabinet. She could not trust him, she knew that much. She would either have to handcuff his other hand as well and find a way effectively silence him or figure out how to keep him from alerting anyone to his presence. Too many things could go wrong and frankly, she needed to be able to leave him alone. Not only did she hope Dean would show up at the diner where she would be on hand to console him, but it would raise suspicion if she suddenly stopped reporting to work.

She rifled through the brown prescription bottles looking for something to calm her nerves. Certainly she still had something left over from her medicated days. The stupid shrinks her parents had sent her to thought drugs solved everything. The only thing they ever did was make her tired and apathetic.

She picked up the bottles one by one, carefully examining the labels. One of the bottles felt heavier than the others. She read the label on the nearly full bottle and smiled. Xanax was just what the doctor ordered – for both of them.

TBC

………………………………………………………….**Supernatural**…………………………………………………….

AN: Well, it's my turn this time. I did some method writing this week. Hmmm…first it was Wysawyg, then a reader, now me. I think I need a new disclaimer about this story causing the flu.

:D

BTW – the Chapter title is a slight twist on a Russian Proverb: Jealousy and love are sisters.

As always – feedback welcome!


	6. Envy is the Dragon in Paradise

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural et al belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. I'm just having fun.

**Beta'd: **By the very busy, very talented and oh-so-subtly pushy Wysawyg. :D

_This chapter required re-construction after it was beta'd, so any remaining unmarked detours are mine. ;)_

**Special Thanks: **To Heather for her medical expertise. I appreciate it, girl!

_An special thanks to everyone who has been reading and an extra thank you to those anonymous reviewers who I can't thank personally. Thank you!_

………..…………………………….**Envy is the Dragon in Paradise**………………………..……..………

_Rose sighed and opened the medicine cabinet. She could not trust him, she knew that much. She would either have to handcuff his other hand as well and find a way effectively silence him or figure out how to keep him from alerting anyone to his presence. Too many things could go wrong and frankly, she needed to be able to leave him alone. Not only did she hope Dean would show up at the diner where she would be on hand to console him, but it would raise suspicion if she suddenly stopped reporting to work._

_She rifled through the brown prescription bottles looking for something to calm her nerves. Certainly she still had something left over from her medicated days. The stupid shrinks her parents had sent her to thought drugs solved everything. The only thing they ever did was make her tired and apathetic._

_She picked up the bottles one by one, carefully examining the labels. One of the bottles felt heavier than the others. She read the label on the nearly full bottle and smiled. Xanax was just what the doctor ordered – for both of them._

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Sam coughed lightly and shivered. Rose had forced him last night to swallow a pill and he honestly did not remember much after that. There had been periods of wakefulness when he shivered from cold on the bare mattress, but that was about all.

He did not know how much time had passed, but when Rose had shown up a few minutes ago, she had been wearing a different outfit. He had squeezed his eyes shut against the flashlight she shone in his eyes. They had stung and watered from the unaccustomed assault to the darkness he had quickly acclimated to.

He had a difficult time swallowing when she forced another pill into his mouth accompanied by water. She had plugged his nose and pushed his chin upwards until the back of his head connected with the wall and there had been nowhere to escape. With no other choice, Sam had swallowed and while the water had gone down the right way the first time, the second time he had sucked it into his airway causing an instant coughing fit.

He had not expected her to check his mouth to make sure the pill had gone down and she had found it tucked between his gums and cheek. Anger sparkled in her brown eyes, clearly visible even in the poor lighting. The next round, she had poured so much water, so quickly he could barely keep from choking on it. He had lost the pill as it easily slid down his throat with the deluge.

She had not said anything, not at any point and when she had finished she had simply left, plunging him into darkness again. Sam coughed again and pulled his legs up towards his chest. He wrapped his free arm around his legs and rested his head on his knees. He pulled half-heartedly on the handcuffs, feeling the metal dig into his wrist, but after several attempts he stopped. He could barely keep his eyes open and really could not think of any way to get free of the cuffs. Rose had fastened them too tightly.

How long was it going to take for Dean to think of looking for him here? Rose had always ignored him. She had treated him as a necessary evil for seeing Dean, but she had never outwardly shown any true dislike for him. Somewhere in his sluggish brain, Sam contemplated the theory Rose had been responsible for his mysterious bouts of sickness after eating at the diner, but the thought dissipated into the gray mist of confusion quickly enveloping his mind.

Sam tried desperately to stay awake. He needed to remain alert if he had any hope of freeing himself while Rose was gone. He shivered once more in the dark before losing the battle and slipping into oblivion.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dean ground the heels of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to rub away the gritty tiredness resting inside the lids. He scrubbed his hand up his face, through his short hair and back down until his fingers snagged on chapped lips. He winced at the headache forming behind his eyes and building in his head. Sleep would be something he would be unable to avoid for much longer.

He had tried calling his dad last night, not surprised to only reach voicemail. He had left a message, just short of begging for his dad to return. Sam had never disappeared without a trace before. He had been lost three times that Dean could recall, once when he had been three in a supermarket of all places, once when he was seven in the woods behind Pastor Jim's and most recently in the backwaters of Louisiana. Lost? Yes, held captive by some supernatural thing? Yes, disappeared into the ether? No.

There had not been a single clue in the apartment other than the running shower. Obviously, Sam had either left unexpectedly or someone had taken him without his consent. Downstairs in the alleyway there was a small spot of oil. Dean knew without a doubt that the Impala was not leaking oil and it had not been there earlier.

The oil could have come from any car at any time during the day, but Dean followed the lead anyway. Stopping the Impala every few feet, searching for more oil until he hit the busy main road and it blended with all the other road stains.

Frustration at his lack of progress towards finding Sam coupled with guilt at leaving his sick brother alone in the first place and together they warred with a rising panic that he squashed with years of practice. Worry only clouded judgment and hid solutions behind a veil of apprehension. He needed his head clear, but someone or something had his little brother…HIS.

Dean yawned and blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyes open. Coffee, caffeine of any kind, he needed a jump start to keep up the search. He pulled into the parking lot at the Iron Skillet and turned off the engine. He really was not up to dealing with Rose, but he did not feel like driving around looking for an alternative either.

Leaden feet carried him into the diner and he slid, nearly boneless, into the red vinyl bench seat. Exhaustion leaked from every pore, but he would fight it for now. Just a few more hours of searching and he would have to call a time out for rest. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

He had even considered calling the police, but he did not dare, not yet anyway. Winchesters took care of their own and did not involve the police or the hospital if they could avoid it. Authorities had a nasty habit of complicating matters. The last thing Dean wanted was to spend hours at the police station answering mundane, repetitive questions when they would most likely believe Sam was a runaway and he could've been out searching for Sam instead.

The clink of ceramic meeting wood snapped him awake from a light doze. "Dean, are you okay?" Rose asked, her brown eyes conveying concern. "You look terrible."

"And here I was under the impression you found me adorable," Dean quipped tiredly. He took a sip of the strong, black coffee Rose had set in front of him.

Rose joined him in the booth and furrowed her brow. "Honestly Dean, you look extremely tired." She paused for a moment when Dean did not reply. "Don't take this wrong, but weren't you leaving yesterday?"

Dean sighed and flicked his eyes towards Rose for the first time. "Yeah, but something came up."

Rose nodded in understanding. "Are you still going to make the game? I thought you told me you had tickets for you and Sam to watch the Marlins." She tucked a wayward strand of red-brown hair behind her ear. "You were looking forward to it."

Dean lowered his gaze to his coffee and mumbled a response into the mug as he took a sip. "I don't think we're going to make it."

"I'm sorry," Rose replied, her expression unreadable. "Where is Sam anyway? Normally you guys come in here together."

"Rose, table five is ready to order," a mousy, brown-haired woman interrupted. "I'd cover for you, but I'm late picking up C.J. as it is."

"That's alright, Shelly," Rose replied. "I got it." She stood up and turned started to leave, but turned back towards Dean for a moment. "Wait here for a minute, okay?"

Dean nodded and took another sip. He needed to give the coffee a chance to kick in anyway.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Rose waited on the burly man at table five, filling his coffee and taking his order, but all the while she had her eyes on Dean. He looked absolutely exhausted and a part of her felt badly for causing him worry and the lack of sleep. It was necessary though, to keep him in town and to win him over. They would be so happy together and he would thank her some day.

She turned towards the grill and clipped the slip into the ticket wheel. Picking up a carafe to refill Dean's cup of coffee, Rose meandered past several tables, topping off other customers' cups as she went. _Come on Dean, _she thought. _I want to offer to help you, I want to wrap my arms around you and tell you everything will be alright, but I can't do that if you won't tell me about Sam. Tell me about Sam, Dean._

She slipped into the booth before refilling Dean's mug. He looked up and stifled a weary yawn, hiding it behind a clenched fist. His eyes reflected his emotions so clearly that for a moment she felt overwhelmed by the conflicting signals. Rose rested her hand on Dean's, leaned forward and asked, "So, where did you say Sam was again?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

John turned on his cell phone and checked for a signal. None. He did not know why he kept checking, he knew it would not get a signal out here. In reality he knew he kept checking because he hoped somehow he would get a glimmer of a signal and be able to check on the boys.

A light rain earlier had soaked through his jacket and although the early afternoon sun made quick work of drying it, he still felt chilled. He had been following the bear prints the better part of the morning, while Bobby scouted the site of the latest victim. Last night, while he and Bobby had alternated sleeping and standing guard, three miles away, the bear had attacked. The woman had been mauled, but this time she had survived.

She had been unconscious when found and rushed back to the mainland for emergency care. Last either of them had heard, she was still in surgery and no one knew whether she would survive or not. The police had combed the scene, but Bobby had insisted on searching the area as well hoping he would find something the police had not, or at the very least something they had not recognized as important.

John scrubbed a hand through his beard. He knelt down to examine the tracks more carefully, but nothing about them seemed out of the ordinary. They were probably tracking a real, nothing special, no supernatural whammy attached, bear. Although last he had heard there weren't bears on Mackinac any more, but animals had a way of hiding, avoiding detection and even something as large as a bear could hide itself from prying eyes.

"Did you find anything?" he asked when he heard Bobby approaching. The man was a damn fine hunter, but stealth did not happen to be his strongest suit.

"As a matter of fact," Bobby replied, holding out his hand. Three crushed cigarette butts and a small assortment of sunflower seeds nestled in Singer's hand. "Behind a large boulder, not more than twenty feet from where that girl was found."

"They could have been left there at any time," John dismissed. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Give me a little credit," Bobby shot back, a scowl crossing his features. "The footprints suggest whoever stood behind that rock was there long enough to leave several deeper prints and they were fresh."

"Doesn't sound much like a bear to me," John agreed. "The police didn't find these? The local blue shirts aren't very impressive."

"More like clueless," Bobby replied. "I get the distinct impression they're only used to dealing with rowdy tourists and the occasional bar fight. They didn't even keep the gawkers back. I walked right past them to find these."

"You think all the attacks were the same guy?" John asked, his voice holding a smidgeon of hope. He did not want people to get hurt, but a normal, every day serial killer did not fall under their jurisdiction and he could head back to civilization to call his boys.

"'Fraid not," Bobby replied sympathetically. "But we're fresh out of leads here."

"Not entirely true," John disagreed.

"You find something?" Bobby asked, pushing his cap up his forehead. He shrugged out of his flannel coat, the afternoon sun beating down making him uncomfortably warm.

John pointed to the ground and Bobby stooped to look. A pile of bear scat with buzzing flies sat conveniently near some low growth vegetation. Barely ripe blueberry and sarsaparilla berries were visible in the droppings and the rain had caused the juices to run across the path. "I'm thinking a bearwalker doesn't need to eat wild berries before it attacks."

"Then we are out of leads," Bobby said, confusion lacing his tone.

"Look again," John suggested, pointing again near the low lying brush.

Bobby examined the damp ground again and this time, he saw what John was referring to. "Sunflower seeds." Bobby squinted looking up at John, a ray of sunshine hitting him in the eye.

"Looks like someone is making the rounds," John stated.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dean sat on a park bench in Centennial Park waiting for Rose. He had snagged a couple of hours of sleep at his room at the Arborwood motel and now it was time to search for Sam again. The sun still hovered above the treetops and he figured he had another three hours before it would be dark and Sam would be spending another night alone.

Rose had weaseled information out of him earlier when his exhausted brain had been unable to form a defense to her relentless questions. She had offered to help him search and Dean had flatly turned her down. He did not need her slowing him down. She had seemed hurt, but insisted on meeting him here with provisions.

Hot coffee and soup for a long night of sleuthing seemed like a good idea at the time. He would only give her five more minutes before he left. No way would he waste time cooling his heels when his little brother was out there somewhere.

He pulled the baseball tickets out of his jacket pocket and stared at them. Today should have been filled with hotdogs, soda and an exciting game. Most of all, it should have been just him and Sam enjoying a day off for a change.

Instead, he had spent the day searching fruitlessly for his little brother and Sam…Sam was no where to be found. He could be hurt or – God only knew what could be happening to him. Dean crumpled the tickets in his fist. When he found whoever had done this, he was going to ensure they never hurt anyone ever again.

"Hey there," Rose said, taking a sit next to him on the bench. "Any luck?"

"No," Dean admitted. "I went back to the apartment, but other than the oil spot, nothing." He lifted his gaze to meet hers and stuffed the crumpled tickets into his jacket pocket.

"Did you get some sleep?" she asked. She handed him a stainless steel thermos. "This one is coffee." She held out another thermos, this one with a red plaid pattern on it. "Chicken soup."

"A little. Thanks," Dean replied, his tone flat. He set the thermoses down on the bench between them. "I'll return these to you in the morning."

"Don't worry about it," Rose replied, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Dean looked up from his hands and nodded at Rose. He frowned when he noticed a dark discoloring on her cheek, partially disguised by makeup. He smoothed the hair away from her face and cupped her cheek. "What happened?"

Rose melted into his touch before he pulled his hand back. "I tripped over my cat in the dark and hit it on the bathroom door."

Dean scrunched his face in disbelief, but did not call her on it. If Rose was having problems with Danny or a new boyfriend, he couldn't worry about it right now. He shook his head; of course he could not let it go. "Rose…"

"Don't worry about me, Dean," Rose interrupted. "You need to focus on Sam."

Dean did not disagree with her nor did he try to push her for more information. His thoughts drifted back to his pointless efforts this afternoon to wangle information from the neighbors. They had either not been home at the time or, as was typical in many areas, they did not want to get involved. Sam's disappearance smacked of domestic discord to the outside observer and no one wanted to be dragged into a family dispute. Two people on their floor had not been home this afternoon and Dean planned to return tomorrow to try again.

"So, you'll be in town for awhile?" Rose asked, interrupting his inner musings.

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion of the strange question. "I'll be in town until I find my brother."

"And then?" Rose asked. She fingered the hem of her shirt absent-mindedly.

"And then someone is going to be very sorry," Dean commented recklessly.

Rose swallowed hard and dropped her gaze before lifting her head to meet Dean's eyes. "Don't do anything stupid."

Dean gave her a hard look before standing up. "The only stupid one here is whoever thought they could hurt my brother and get away with it." He ignored her stricken expression. He did not care what Rose thought about him anymore. He only cared about finding Sam. When the silence grew to an uncomfortable level he spun on his heel and left her sitting on the park bench alone.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sam licked his dry lips. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. In a cruel twist of irony his bladder screamed for release. He swallowed twice, hoping to use saliva to soothe his aching throat, but it did not work. A cold breeze shot out of the overhead duct as the central air kicked on again and he pulled his knees up tighter against his chest to keep warm.

The new position put additional strain on his bladder and the sensitive bruises on his back and legs pulled tight. Still cold and now decidedly uncomfortable, Sam carefully unfurled and scooted up the mattress until he could sit and rest his back gently against the concrete wall.

His mind clearer now than it had been, he decided to try the handcuffs again. He did not know how long he had before Rose would come back, but he did not want to find out. He squeezed his fingers together to make his left hand smaller and used his other hand to hold the handcuff in place. He pulled until he felt warm rivulets running down his arm towards his elbow and he released the cuff with a sob. It was too tight to pull his hand through even with the added lubrication.

He breathed deeply, as tears of frustration welled in his eyes, but did not fall. He felt around blindly in the dark for something to use to pick the lock. He stretched as far as his current predicament allowed, but his searching fingers found nothing.

His breathing stuttered when he heard the front door slam and a high-pitched scream rent the air. The sound of banging pots filtered through the ceiling and before long the acrid smell of burning meat reached Sam's nose, mingling with the closer scent of copper. His stomach roiled and he knew whatever was cooking upstairs, he did not want any of it.

Water though, water to quench the absolute desert in his mouth, he would gladly accept. The basement door opened with a bang and a light bobbed as Rose thudded down the stairs. "You're awake," she stated, closer than Sam thought she would be and he jumped slightly, his breathing quickening.

He swallowed hard and tried to push words past shriveled vocal chords. "Please," he whispered and squirmed in embarrassment.

Luckily, Rose quickly picked up on his true need. "If I unlock the handcuffs, you'll behave?" she asked. "You won't try anything stupid?"

"No," Sam whispered, his throat incapable of supporting anything else. "Tired."

Rose made clucking noises of sympathy which confused him. He was certain whatever pills she forced him to swallow caused it. His arm dropped abruptly when the metal clink of a turning key allowed the cuff to fall from his wrist. "What's this?" she asked angrily, grabbing his bloody wrist.

Sam did not answer. His eyes darted back and forth in panic as he tried to think of an excuse that would not anger Rose further. "Sa-am," she sing-songed, "Were you trying to get away? Do you need more pills to relax you? I don't want you to hurt yourself."

Sam shook his head. He could not let her think he was trying to get away. He knew he'd have to appear compliant, bide his time, or she would simply up the dosage and he wouldn't be able to fight back. "No, no," he stammered quietly. "It happened while I was sleeping."

Rose's posture relaxed and she seemed to accept the theory of drug induced memory lapses and Sam somehow pulling on the cuff hard enough to cause his wrist to bleed while he slept. _What the hell kind of pills are they? _

Rose looped an arm under his arm and grabbed it with sticky fingers. Helping him stand, she directed him to the other side of the room. Shaky legs, weak from inactivity, nevertheless managed to hold him upright and propel him where Rose guided him.

A single, small indigo motion nightlight popped on when he entered the bathroom. The illumination more than enough to see and he squinted against the brightness. He quickly took care of business and then ran water to wash his hands. He splashed water on his face and took several long drinks from cupped hands.

Under the cover of running water, Sam opened drawers searching for something to pick the lock on the handcuffs or to use as a weapon. The only items he found were shell-shaped soaps, spare toilet paper and tampons. _Not even Dean can pick a lock armed with only soap and tampons, _he thought dismally.

The door opened and Rose shone the flashlight into the bathroom, the beam reflecting off the mirror and into his light sensitive eyes. He quickly closed his eyes and turned his head. He felt Rose reach over him to turn off the faucet and the tug on his t-shirt was enough to convince him to follow.

He collapsed more than sat down on the mattress and Rose handed him a plate of the foul-smelling meat he had noticed earlier. He grimaced at the thought of food, but his desire for water still overwhelmed him. "Water?" he asked.

"Here," she responded, thrusting the cup into his good hand. He felt a surge of panic at the click of the handcuff and the feel of metal around his wrist. The flashlight turned up to lighten the room while a direct beam moved closer and Sam could see Rose's shadowed face.

"I'm going to give you the chance to take this nicely," she offered, dropping the tiny pill in his hand. "Your choice. It makes no difference to me."

Sam stared at the pill for a minute before asking, "What is it?"

Rose raised an eyebrow in disapproval, but answered his question, regardless. "Xanax. It's just a little something to help you relax."

He hesitated a moment longer before deciding he would rather maintain his dignity and swallow the pill than have it shoved down his throat like before. He placed the pill on his tongue and drank water until the glass was empty.

"Open up," Rose said sweetly, tapping him under the chin. Sam glared at her, but obediently opened his mouth.

"There, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Rose asked in a condescending tone. She patted him on the head and stood up. Sam narrowed his eyes. "You know, your brother and I spent some time together today. He seems to be laboring under the false assumption that you ran away."

Sam continued to glare at her. He knew Dean would know better than to think that. She continued on, ignoring him as usual. "He said something about you being mad at him."

Okay, now that did sound more believable. He had been a little angry at Dean for not telling him about Dad's hunt, but it had not lasted long. Surely Dean did not think he was still upset about it. He could feel his angry glare turning into a look of confusion.

"He said he would wait a few days for you to get over it, but then he'd have to tell your dad and that he wouldn't be happy."

Sam dropped his gaze altogether. Dad would not be happy if he thought Sam had run away from Dean because was upset about being left out of the loop. "Don't worry, I offered to keep him company while he waited."

With that, Rose patted him on the head once more and left, her footfalls going up the stairs decidedly lighter than on her way down. Sam lay down on his side and curled into a ball. He did not believe Rose, not really, but his clouded mind had difficulty fully convincing him what she said about Dean was not true. He did, however, believe she had talked to him.

"God, Dean, be careful," he whispered. "But please…hurry."

TBC

…………………………………………………………**Supernatural**……………………………………………………

As always – Feedback welcome!

AN: Episode three rocked! I'm really enjoying this season so far.

I do have to say that researching Bear poo is a new one for me. What they eat, what time of year, etc, etc.

/shakes head

My Internet history is CRAZY. Hee.


	7. She Who is Not Jealous is Not in Love

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **I checked my mail and I STILL don't own Supernatural. It belongs to Kripke and the CW – the lucky ducks.

**Beta'd: **By Wysawyg who asks the best questions and forces me to think…ow. :D

_Thanks especially for encouraging me to rewrite that scene from Rose's PoV. _

**Thank you: **To everyone who has been reading!

**Special Thanks: **To Lauriena who mentioned a common side-effect of Xanax. I had to use it.

**Warning: **This particular chapter should probably be rated M, simply because Dean drops the F-bomb, but I'm disinclined to change the entire story rating.

Needless to say, if you aren't over sixteen skim over that section and don't tell your parents you heard that word from me:0)

……………………………………….**She Who is Not Jealous is Not in Love**…………………………………

_Sam dropped his gaze altogether. Dad would not be happy if he thought Sam had run away from Dean because was upset about being left out of the loop. "Don't worry, I offered to keep him company while he waited."_

_With that, Rose patted him on the head once more and left, her footfalls going up the stairs decidedly lighter than on her way down. Sam lay down on his side and curled into a ball. He did not believe Rose, not really, but his clouded mind had difficulty fully convincing him what she said about Dean was not true. He did, however, believe she had talked to him. _

"_God, Dean, be careful," he whispered. "But please…hurry." _

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean sat in the Impala with the radio cranked on full, the steady thrum of Metallica through his veins somehow calming him. The sun had risen a few minutes ago, but it was still too early to knock on the neighbors' doors.

He fingered the buttons on his open cell phone. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if his father had heard his first cell phone message he would have called him back right away, but a part of him had to try anyway. He needed his dad here. Before he realized he had dialed the phone, he heard it ringing.

_You've reached the voicemail of John Winchester. If you need help, leave a message._

"Dad, I uh, I guess you are still out on Mackinac with Bobby," Dean said. "Sammy's still missing and I'm almost out of ideas." He took a breath and released it slowly. He gripped the steering wheel tighter with his free hand.

"I broke our rule, Dad. I had to," Dean continued, his knuckles turning white from the death grip he maintained on the wheel. "Waste of time. Police think Sammy's a runaway and I can tell they aren't going to do much." _Damn it! I knew they'd think that, but I was desperate._

Dean banged his fist once on the wheel. "I, I got it though." He rubbed a hand through his hair and let it land with a thud back on the wheel. He took a shuddering breath and thought for a moment, his forehead creased in concentration. "I mean, I'm working on it, but call me when you can."

He closed his cell and stuck it in the visor. Dean shifted in his seat and looked across the lot towards the apartment building. Ordinarily, he would park in the alley, but the front parking lot allowed him to see who came and went from the building. He tapped the wheel absent-mindedly to the beat of the music and glanced at his watch again. Five-thirty, a good hour before he could start banging on doors without having someone call the police on him.

He picked up the thermos and gave it a shake. Completely empty and he truly needed a caffeine boost right now. A drive through McDonald's came to mind, but he did not want to relinquish his sentry post. He yawned deeply, his eyes watering from the effort. He ran his sleeve across his eyes to dry them and tried to focus on the front door of the apartments. He could not afford to miss any opportunity.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Rose pulled the sedan to a stop and pocketed her keys. She had spotted Dean's black, muscle car from the road and pulled in. She had been driving around for over two hours looking for him in the logical places. She should have known to look here.

Her heels clicked gaily on the blacktop as she crossed the lot. She hoped the offer of coffee would be well received and maybe even convince Dean to let her stay for awhile. She wanted to spend some more time with him and help him. He needed to start leaning on her a little bit, that's what girlfriends were for.

Dean's head rested against the glass and his eyes were closed. She debated a moment about waking him up. He looked peaceful and she knew he needed the rest. He had looked truly awful yesterday afternoon.

He needed her more though, whether he realized it or not. With her mind made up, she knocked sharply on his window. Dean snapped awake, instantly alert, separated from her by only an eighth of an inch of glass. He rolled down the window and she leaned into the Impala, drinking in his scent.

"I thought I'd find you here," she stated, her brown eyes wide with concern. "Dean, you need to sleep."

"I _need_ to find my little brother," Dean corrected. He frowned slightly, but gestured for her to come around and sit in the passenger seat nonetheless.

Rose darted around the front of the car and slid into the Impala joining Dean on the leather bench seat. She scooted closer to him and patted him on the arm. "I'm sorry, Dean," she cooed. "I know how you must feel."

He turned to face her. "Do you?" he asked sharply, his green eyes flashing. "You know what it is like to have your little brother missing? Your little brother you are supposed to watch out for, that you are responsible for? You know what that's like?"

"No," Rose admitted. He nodded his head in acknowledgement and turned from her and back towards the apartments. He looked angry. She needed to remedy his mood and quickly. Rose wracked her brain, searching for the perfect memory to use.

She had felt alone and scared in Parson's Rehabilitation Center when her parents had left her there. They had abandoned her with doctors and drugs all under the guise of concern when Rose knew it was so they could spend the summer in France. She had lost her junior year of summer vacation, doped up and in group therapy so her parents could gallivant about Europe. They were so selfish, always putting their needs above hers, ignoring her and acting as if she didn't exist.

Rose's fists clenched and her brown eyes sparked in anger. _Breathe, Rose, _she coached herself. _Focus this into something positive you can use. Your parents left you, alone, scared, that's the angle you want. Dean will be able to relate to it and you may get some well deserved comfort in his strong arms. _

"I don't know exactly how you feel." He looked over to her and she added, her voice hitching, "But I know what it's like to have your parents not come home after an office Christmas party. I know what it's like to wear yourself out trying to find out where they are and why they aren't home yet. I know what it's like to find out they were hit by a drunk driver and they're never coming home."

Rose crumpled, covering her face with her hands and sniffing several times. "I was alone, truly alone. My family was gone and I felt so guilty for being alive when they weren't." She chanced a peek at him through her fingers. Dean's features relaxed as his anger dissolved. It was working.

"I was afraid to be alone. My family meant everything to me. It took me a long time to get over it and function like a normal human being." Rose felt Dean's arms encircled her. She grabbed his coat and sobbed into the leather folds.

"It's still so hard," she finished quietly between crying breaths.

"I'm sorry," Dean mumbled an apology into her hair. He continued to hold her for several long minutes before he pulled back slowly, his face a neutral mask while his eyes projected caring. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

"I will be," Rose replied, wiping a tear off her still wet cheeks. "Besides, this isn't about me. It's about your brother."

He tossed her a grateful look. "It's killing me, you know?"

"I do," she replied, placing a hand back on his shoulder. "You'll find him. Maybe I could even help after my shift today?"

He smiled wanly at her, but did not answer her question. "Rose…"

"At least come down to the diner later," Rose suggested, interrupting him. "You should eat and we can try to come up with a plan."

"Rose," Dean started again, his attention straying from her to the apartment complex doors, "I appreciate the offer, but I need to stay here for awhile, then I'll probably crash for a couple of hours before starting again."

"You still need to eat," Rose stated, pushing her point. "And if you call me ahead of time, I can have it ready to go." _Come on, Dean, let me help._

Dean nodded. "Okay." He straightened in his seat and craned his neck for a better look at something. "You should leave now, Rose. I have work to do."

"I'll see you later, Dean," Rose responded, exiting the car at the same time Dean did. It had worked, Dean would surely let her help and comfort him now. "I start work a little later this morning. Stop by and grab some breakfast."

Dean waved a hand at her as he said goodbye. She watched him walk quickly across the parking lot and disappear behind an old Volkswagen van before she headed for her own car. She smiled to herself and hummed under her breath. Dean was finally coming around.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Bobby walked silently through the woods the spring buds having long opened into early summer colors of reds, pinks, yellows and greens. They rolled in waves on gentle fingers of an evening summer breeze. The crisp air cooled his breath and it escaped from his body in white, wispy wraiths. He traveled along the trail, his gun poised and stopped at the sight of a denim clad leg sticking out from behind the cover of blooming flowers._

_As Bobby drew nearer he could see the leg belonged to John and he was covered in blood, his clothes shredded. He knelt down and felt John's cold neck for a pulse. Nothing, he was too late._

Sam drew in deep, shuddering breaths, but did not awaken. He moaned and his body convulsed in denial of the sights running behind darting eyelids. The skin tearing anew as the handcuff pulled against flesh did not faze him and he tossed in fitful sleep.

"_You ran away?" Dean shouted, angry spittle landing on Sam's face. "Do you know how mad Dad is going to be? Do you have any idea how mad I am?"_

"_No, I, she…" his protests were cut short when Dean grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and slammed him against the wall._

"_Don't lie to me, Sammy," he growled. "You suck at it anyway. Why do you even try?"_

"_Dean, I'm not…" Sam defended weakly._

"_Don't lie!" Dean insisted, slamming Sam against the wall to emphasize his words. "Do you even care how worried I was? That I've been driving myself crazy looking for your sorry ass?"_

_Sam winced at his words, but he no longer made any effort to defend himself. Dean's words stung more than his aching back and head from hitting the wall. His arms hung weakly by his sides, but the left one burned when Dean grabbed it tightly. _

"_You are so selfish," Dean hissed. Sam stifled a groan of pain as Dean's fingers gripped his wrist harder. "You shouldn't have even bothered coming home."_

Sam cried out and silent sobs racked his slight frame. He lay on the bare mattress, chest heaving for several minutes until he could catch his breath. He took in a deep lungful of air and let it out in a shuddering breath. _Just a dream, just a dream, _he repeated in mantra.

Sam slowly opened his eyes and moved carefully trying to find a more comfortable position. "Aah," he groaned as the metal cuff bit into his wrist. He could feel blood dripping from his wrist into his elbow and down the sides of his arm.

Scooting closer to the wall to ease the pull on his arm, Sam stifled another groan. He could suck it up and deal with the pain. Dean would want him to and his father would expect it. No matter how much he fought for his own identity, his own path, he was a Winchester and he could handle this.

He squeezed his fingers together and tucked his thumb as close to his little finger as he could stretch it. A slow, steady pull and this time his hand slipped partway through the metal confines of the handcuffs. Sam took a deep breath and pulled again, but his hand remained lodged partway through the cuff.

Sam used his free hand to wipe blood from his wrist onto his hand and used tacky fingers to hold the cuff. He pulled harder and this time his hand slid free from the cuff, pulling skin along with it. "Son of…" Sam whispered harshly, channeling his big brother. He cradled his wrist next to his stomach and rocked back and forth until the pain eased to a manageable level.

Hunched over his knees, Sam slowly sat back on his heels and looked around the dim room. Light seeped in through the slats on the shutters and he assumed another day had passed. He had lost track of time and he honestly had no idea how long he had been in the dark basement.

He paused for a minute, listening for any indication someone was in the house. He could not remember why he was here or exactly what had happened, but he did remember Rose being angry with him and forcing him to swallow pills. The one thing he did know was that he needed to be quiet to avoid detection.

He placed a shaky hand on the wall and slowly, inexorably levered his lanky frame into a standing position. Weak legs nearly buckled when he tried to take a step forward. His toes hit the forgotten plate of meat and it skidded noisily across the floor, shattering when it hit the wall.

Sam's heart pounded loudly in his ears and he panted in shallow, panicked breaths. Surely she had heard that and would be down soon to discover he had freed himself. He stood, frozen in fright for several long moments, but when he eventually realized no one was coming, he began his tenuous journey to freedom.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Bobby moved slowly down a well worn trail following the tracks of the sunflower seeds man. The man had made no effort to cover his tracks and the longer Bobby followed them the more sure he was that this person was not responsible for the deaths. With the number of broken branches, cigarette butts and sunflower seeds along the path the man was too noisy, too stinky and too careless to avoid detection.

John was following the bear tracks approximately a half a mile west of Bobby's current location. John was still not one hundred percent convinced it was a Bearwalker, but Bobby was. He hadn't argued when John suggested they split up and follow both leads, but he was a little nervous about having the other hunter be the one that followed the bear. If he let his guard down thinking it wasn't a Bearwalker or because he was thinking about his boys, he'd be at risk and alone.

The sunflower seeds man's prints disappeared from the trail, but Bobby could clearly see where he had cut through the ferns towards the Bearwalker trail. Two clicks from the trail, Bobby caught sight of the skulking man and he quickened his pace to overtake him.

The man knelt down behind low ground cover, with binoculars raised, scanning the area in front of him. Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder and the man spun around quickly and fell back into the ferns an instantaneous look of fear appearing on his face.

"Holy shit!" the man exclaimed. "You scared the hell out of me!"

Bobby offered a hand of assistance and the man only hesitated a moment before accepting. The hunter pulled the fresh-faced kid off the ground in one smooth pull and growled, "What are you doing out here? These woods ain't safe, you know."

Bobby's gruff demeanor did nothing to calm the young man in front of him. "I'm Fred Beninger," he said, holding out his hand. After an awkward pause of an unreciprocated gesture, Fred continued. "I'm a zoology student at U of M with a strong interest in cryptozoology and I came out here looking for evidence of Bearwalkers."

"And in a burst of inspired wisdom you came out here armed with only a camera and binoculars?" Bobby barked sarcastically. "You got any idea what you're up against? Did you actually read up on this Bearwalker at all before you embarked on this journey of idiocy?"

"Of course I did," Fred responded in an offended tone. He slipped his green canvas backpack off and reached inside. "These are pictures from the last three sites. Notice something odd about the tracks?"

Bobby looked the pictures over carefully. The prints were not distinct and some were difficult to discern. Bear prints were very similar to barefoot human prints, soft and blurred despite their large size. He held the picture closer to his face. The bear prints appeared to become human prints on the third picture. "Looks like the Bearwalker theory is correct," Bobby agreed. "Doesn't change the fact you're out here completely unprepared."

"I only want to document the creature," Fred contradicted. "Not capture it."

"Son, this thing needs to be stopped," Bobby replied, pushing his cap up his forehead. "It's killed three people so far."

"Typical," Fred snorted derisively. He snagged the pictures from Bobby's hand and shoved them into his pack before slipping it back over his shoulders.

"Come again?" Bobby asked, his tone sharpening.

"Typical," Fred repeated. "People like you always want to kill these creatures rather than try to understand them. It's fear, plain and simple."

"It ain't fear," Bobby snapped. "It's survival. This creature is human. It kills to exact revenge in the shape of that bear. It's not here on some misunderstood divine spiritual trip."

"You don't know that," Fred protested.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Bobby replied simply. "This is not the first evil thing I've hunted."

"Hunted?" Fred asked. His disapproval clearly evident in his narrowed eyes and the set in his jaw.

"Yeah," Bobby replied. "And if you're smart, you'll stay out of the way and forget all about trying to 'document the creature.'"

"If you're going to track this animal," Fred stated. "Then I'm going with you."

Bobby let out a sigh of long suffering. "I have half a mind to knock you senseless right now and not risk you screwing up this hunt."

"I'd follow you later," Fred informed him, recklessly. "Probably get in the way when you least expect it."

Bobby sighed again. He stood for a moment debating his options. "Grab your gear, kid. Welcome to the glamorous world of hunting."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

"Kevin," Dean called, jogging to catch up to the shorter blonde man. Kevin lived on their floor and he was one of two remaining individuals Dean had yet to talk to. "Hey, man, I need to talk to you."

Kevin turned away from his car to face Dean. "Hey, Dean, how's your brother?" Dean stared at Kevin for a minute in stunned silence. "Dean?"

In a blink, Dean's fists were tangled in Kevin's shirt and he pushed the older man up against his car. "What do you know about Sam?" he asked, his voice harsh and his eyes snapping.

"Easy there, Deano," Kevin soothed. "Take it easy."

"What. Do you. Know about Sam?" he demanded, pushing Kevin harder against the car.

"Back off, Dean," Kevin snapped attempting, and failing, to disentangle himself from Dean's iron grip. "I was the one that helped your cousin load him into her car after he had that seizure. I just wanted to know if he was feeling better. What's your problem?"

"My cousin?" Dean asked. He blinked in confusion, but did not loosen his grasp.

"Are you feeling okay?" Kevin asked, his eyes searching Dean's face. "Yeah, your cousin. She stopped by the other morning and Sam had a seizure right there in your doorway. The poor kid looked like death on toast. I helped her get him downstairs and into the car. He's a lot heavier than you'd expect for a kid so thin."

"What'd she look like?" Dean asked, his fists tightening in Kevin's shirt. When Kevin hesitated, Dean slammed Kevin once against his subcompact. "What'd she look like?"

Fear replaced the annoyance in Kevin's eyes and he stuttered, "What, what's wrong, Dean?"

"What'd she look like?" Dean repeated for the third time, his voice and gaze hardening to granite.

"Uh, maybe five years older than you. About this tall," Kevin replied, raising his hand to Dean's shoulder. "Red-brown hair and curvier than a swimsuit model."

Dean felt the blood rush from his face as realization set in. All the times Sam got sick after eating at the diner, the smashed windshield and slashed tires, all her offers to help, all her fake sympathy flashed in his mind as the pieces clicked into place. Lax fingers fell from Kevin's shirt and Kevin wasted no time moving away from the stunned Winchester. "Do you remember what car she drove?" Dean asked after a beat.

"Sorry dude," Kevin replied, walking around to stand on the opposite side of his car. "I remember it was brown and foreign."

Dean stood stock still, all color and expression leaking from his face. "Is something wrong with Sam?" Kevin asked. "Because I mean, I'd feel really bad if something I did…"

"Fucking bitch!" Dean snarled, interrupting Kevin's rambling. He did not even notice Kevin's startled jerk. He stormed back towards the Impala completely ignoring the other man's questions. "That stupid, god damn, fucking bitch," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Dean slipped into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. With a flick of his wrist the Impala roared to life and Metallica boomed out the speakers. He turned off the radio and opened his cell, scrolling through his call history.

"Iron Skillet," a chipper voice answered.

"Is Rose there?" Dean asked in a deceptively calm voice. He pulled out on the road and headed towards the diner.

"No, but I could take a message," the woman on the other end replied.

"This is Dean and Rose asked me to stop in later. I thought maybe she'd be there already." Dean sped up and passed a slow moving Oldsmobile driven by a little old man wearing a Fedora who hunched over the wheel so far he looked as if his chin would hit the steering wheel at the smallest bump in the road.

"Oh, Dean," the perky voice responded. "This is Shelly. Rose should be in about eleven."

Dean hung up without replying, flipped an abrupt u-turn, rubber squealing on tarmac and headed back towards Palm Avenue. The man in the Oldsmobile tooted his horn in disapproval and Dean returned it with his own gesture. He would look for Rose at home.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

"_He seemed a little upset and then he just hung up on me."_

"What did he say?" Rose asked, pulling into the garage.

"_He was just looking for you. I told him you'd be in around eleven."_

"Not a problem," Rose replied. She smiled. He would probably go back to the motel to sleep and come to the diner later: Perfect.

"_I don't know, he sounded off. I was a little afraid he was stalking you like Dennis did."_

"He's pretty tired," Rose replied. "That's probably it."

"_I don't know, Rose. He sounded like he might be angry."_

Rose's heartbeat sped up in trepidation. If Dean had managed to connect with the neighbor down the hall he might have figured out that she had something to do with Sam's disappearance. It was too early. Their love had not had a chance to fully mature.

"Well, thanks for the call, Shel," Rose replied. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"_Sure thing, bye."_

Rose entered the house and ran upstairs to her bedroom. She needed her father's gun just in case Dean did show up here and things got out of control. She needed time to make him understand why it had to be this way.

She stood on tiptoe and pulled a pink shoebox off the shelf in the walk-in closet. Pulling out the .38, she headed downstairs to the basement to give Sam another dose of Xanax. She had to keep him under her control until his big brother could be convinced of the wisdom of her actions.

Rose locked both the door leading to the garage and the door to the outside before flicking on the basement lights. Sam's cry of distress alerted her to the fact he was not where he should be. She spotted him cowering lower on the stairway, covering his head with his arms. He seemed to be trying to shelter his eyes from the overheard light.

"What are you doing, Sam?" she demanded angrily.

He bolted upright and ran blindly for the top of the stairway at the sound of her voice. The action took her off guard, but Rose reacted quickly and tripped him on his way past her. Sam fell hard. His head knocking against the wooden stairs and he groaned.

Rose stashed the gun in her waistband and grabbed Sam by the back of the shirt. She dragged the barely conscious teen back down the stairs and over to the mattress. "Nooo," he moaned.

Silently, Rose unlocked the handcuffs from the wall and secured Sam's hands behind his back. She reached for the brown pill bottle on the runner shelf and shook two out into her hand. "I'll be back in just a second. Don't try anything."

A quick trip to the bathroom to fill a glass of water and Rose was back by Sam's side. She knelt down beside him when she heard the rumble of Dean's Impala and tires skid to a stop outside the house.

She gripped Sam's cheeks painfully in one hand, forcing his mouth open. His piteous attempts to fight her only angered her forcing her adrenaline to a boiling point. She dropped the pills into his mouth and poured the entire glass of water down his throat in one quick motion.

He choked and spluttered on the water in his airway. Undeterred she checked his mouth for the Xanax, but he had swallowed them. A loud knocking on the front door caused her to jump and Sam trembled.

"Rose!" Even muffled by the heavy oak door, Dean's call could be clearly heard. "Rose, are you home?"

"Dean?" Sam asked, quietly, his voice barely audible.

"Sh-sh-sh-sh," Rose hushed, running a hand through his hair. "Just sit tight."

The pounding stopped and Rose waited. She pulled the gun from her waistband and released the safety. The sound of the front door creaking open traveled through the floorboards to the basement. Light footsteps traveled across the room upstairs and Rose tensed, her fingers pulling on the brown strands.

Sam moaned, but otherwise gave no indication of awareness. The bang on his head and the extra dose had worked like a charm. He would not be a distraction during the conversation she would have with Dean.

The basement door creaked open and Rose pulled an unresponsive Sam to her chest. When Dean appeared, she pointed the gun at Sam's head. A murderous look of rage crossed Dean's features and Rose gave a weary sigh. It had come to this. He would force her once again to do something she had hoped to avoid.

"Come on in, Dean," she invited sweetly. "Sam and I want to talk to you."

He stepped closer to her and raised his gun. "Funny," he retorted, holding his gun steady, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "I was just thinking we are way past talking."

TBC

…..………………………………………………….**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………..

AN: I tried desperately to finish this before November and I'm not going to make it. :(

Wysawyg is a fine persuader and I am going to be participating in NaNoWriMo in November which is also backed right into our busiest season at work (November-December).

To top it off there's been a re-org at work and I find myself with more responsibility and a new boss to impress. sigh

None of this means I won't be working on Envy. I'm still aiming for a chapter a week, but if I fail you have my apologies.

My husband asked me if I thought maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew and I assured him cheerfully that I had indeed. :)

I'm determined though and I suspect that despite my slower pace that I should be able to get close to my regular posting schedule. Sleep is highly overrated and hope springs eternal.

The good news is there's probably only a few chapters to go and I actually requested a day off work this week to write (eep!).

Thanks to all who have been reading and I appreciate your patience.


	8. A Love Fed by Jealousy Dies Hard

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine. Nope, not paid. Yep, having fun!

**Beta'd: **By the talented Wysawyg: a wonderful author who takes time away from her own writing to help me with mine! Thanks for squeezing out another beta job before NaNoWriMo!

She had to use her blue and emo beta bat again to help me beat this chapter into shape and I played with it after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

**Thanks: **To everyone who has been reading. Your feedback feeds the reluctant muse!

**Timeline: **Early June 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam recently turned fifteen.

…………………………………….**A Love That is Fed by Jealousy Dies Hard**………………………………….

_The basement door creaked open and Rose pulled an unresponsive Sam to her chest. When Dean appeared, she pointed the gun at Sam's head. A murderous look of rage crossed Dean's features and Rose gave a weary sigh. It had come to this. He would force her once again to do something she had hoped to avoid. _

"_Come on in, Dean," she invited sweetly. "Sam and I want to talk to you."_

_He stepped closer to her and raised his gun. "Funny," he retorted, holding his gun steady, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "I was just thinking we are way past talking."_

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean pulled out his gun and switched off the safety. Slowly he came down the stairs and when he emerged into the main area the sight before him caused his blood to boil. Rose sat on a bare mattress in the corner of the room, her back propped up against a painted concrete wall. Pulled close to her chest, his little brother was draped across her, unconscious.

Sam wore the same gray sweats and blue t-shirt he had worn to bed four nights ago. His features were lax and his face pale, save for a garish red stain down the side of his face and his arms seemed trapped behind him awkwardly. Relief at finally finding Sam was quickly squashed by anger at seeing his little brother had obviously been hurt.

He brought his colt to bear and trained it on Rose. _How completely insane is she? How could I not have noticed? _He kept those thoughts carefully tucked beneath a mask of controlled fury.

"Come on in, Dean," she invited sweetly. "Sam and I want to talk to you."

He took a step closer to her and tightened his shooting stance. "Funny," he retorted, holding his gun steady. "I was just thinking we are way past talking."

"Now, Dean," Rose reasoned with him, pushing the barrel of her gun tighter against Sam's temple. "I just need you to stay calm and listen to me."

Dean raised an eyebrow and cocked his head marginally. "Stay calm? Sweetheart, I am perfectly calm." He moved another step closer. "You should see me when some psycho bitch kidnaps my brother and holds a gun to his head." He tightened his grip on his weapon and concentrated on keeping his breath and tone even. "That's when I get a little angry."

Rose entangled her fingers in Sam's greasy brown strands and pulled his head backwards at an odd angle. She moved the gun from his temple to under his chin. Sam did not so much as blink in response. "Careful, Dean," Rose cautioned. "I just want to talk to you. To help you understand."

Dean stopped moving, but did not lower his gun. Poking the crazy woman with a stick was probably not his best move. "Rose, let me take a look at Sam, make sure he's alright and then I'll listen."

"I don't think so," Rose replied, pursing her lips in a pout and shaking her head. "That's never really worked well for us in the past."

Dean crinkled his brow in confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about." Dean looked at Sam's chest and waited until he was certain he saw the shallow rise and fall. "But Sam's not a part of it. Let me take care of Sam, we can stay here, just let me take care of him and then we'll talk."

"Liar!" Rose shouted abruptly, her entire body shook in anger. The muzzle of the gun in her right hand pressed deeper into the soft flesh of Sam's jaw. As quickly as the anger came, Dean watched it leave as her expression softened and her breathing evened out. "You never stay with me long after you know Sam is okay. I think it's better if we talk this way. But you're right about one thing, this isn't about Sam."

_It is for me, _Dean thought. "Then what's it about?" Dean watched Rose carefully. In her current position, most of her slight frame was hidden behind his brother's gangly form. All he needed was a moment of distraction or for Rose to move away from Sam a hair's breadth and he could take her out.

"It's about us," Rose informed him. "Everything I've done, I've done it for us."

"Rose," Dean replied, trying to keep the venom coursing through his veins from leaking into his voice, "What are you talking about?"

"Us. You and me," Rose explained, "Our relationship."

"Rose, you knew I was leaving," Dean replied cautiously, "You knew we didn't have a long-term relationship."

"Don't say that," Rose said, her eyes snapping. "Don't ever say that."

She shifted position and Dean narrowed his eyes. It was almost enough. _Come on, move a little more. _"Even if we did have one, you hurt my little brother." Dean tensed his jaw and the next word came out as a snarl. "Mine."

"Take it easy," Rose replied, her free hand reaching up to pet Sam's hair. "I haven't hurt him. You did."

Dean couldn't stop the look of incredulousness that spread across his face. "I did?"

"Dean," Rose replied, her condescending tone suggesting that she tired of explaining the obvious to him. "If you hadn't been so wrapped up in your family all the time, I wouldn't have been forced to try to gain your attention."

Dean shook his head. He honestly did not understand Rose's arguments. She was crazy. At least demons made sense. They were evil; they knew it and they were comfortable with it. Rose seemed to think she was perfectly sane and everyone else needed to figure it out. "There is no us."

"Stop saying that!" Rose growled, tightening her grip in Sam's hair.

Sam moaned low, deep in his chest and for Dean it was a welcome relief. He had needed the reassurance that Sam was still with him and it eased the strain of worry however marginally. "Okay, okay, sorry," Dean apologized.

"Put down the gun, Dean," Rose commanded. "If we're going to talk this out and fix our relationship then you need to not be so hostile."

"Ah, not going to happen," Dean replied flippantly. No way he was setting down his gun and giving her all the negotiating power.

Rose's trigger finger twitched nearly imperceptibly. "Now, Dean. I don't want to hurt Sam. Please don't make me."

Dean's nostrils flared and his jaw tightened in anger. He took several deep breaths and slowly lowered his gun to the floor before standing back up. "Okay, just – just calm down."

"I'm not upset," Rose replied but her stiff body posture said otherwise. "I just want a chance to fix things between us. You know we're meant to be together. Now kick your gun this way."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he kicked the gun part of the way towards Rose. This was going to be a long day.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

John trailed the bear by twenty feet on the downwind side. It lumbered along at a leisurely pace, but made steady progress towards the camp ground. The bear could just as easily be headed for hotdogs and marshmallows as it was for blood thirsty revenge on unsuspecting tourists. John inwardly cursed Bobby for bringing him on a wild-goose chase when he could be with his boys. They were sure to be to the motel on the main peninsula by now.

He heard a commotion coming from his right and stopped. A young man, maybe only three to five years older than Dean emerged from the side thicket. Behind him, Bobby scowled and growled a command that John could not quite hear. Whatever it was, the younger man halted and let Bobby past.

John focused his attention back to the bear. It was still headed for camp and the bear did not appear to be concerned with the hunters, if it had even spotted them. They had been lucky, at least for now.

"What's it doing?" Bobby asked in a hushed whisper when he appeared at John's elbow.

"Taking the scenic route to the campground," John growled.

"It could still be our bearwalker," Bobby cautioned. "Best play it safe."

The sound of a camera shutter clicking caused both veteran hunters to whirl as one. John pulled the camera away from the boy and snarled, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm documenting the animal," Fred replied calmly. He held out his hand. "Fred Beninger."

"Not impressed," John stated as a matter of fact and turned his back on the young man. "Bobby, where'd you find him?" He jerked a thumb back in Fred's direction.

"In a cabbage patch," Bobby quipped. He continued at John's stern look. "In the bushes, snapping pictures. He knows what we're after. Damn fool kid threatened to follow me. I decided this was safer."

John nodded in agreement and handed Fred back the camera. "Put this thing back in your pack or the next time you'll be retrieving it out of a very pain-filled orifice."

Fred gulped noisily and stashed his camera back in his tote. "I don't know who he thinks he is," Fred grumbled quietly under his breath.

"Kid, he's one of two men who's gonna be saving your ass, if you try anything like that out here again," Bobby stated on his way by. "This ain't a field trip to the Reptile Gardens. From now on you don't take pictures, you don't talk, hell you don't even move without a signal from one of us. You got that?"

Fred nodded and the older man continued down the path ahead of him. "I got it. It doesn't mean I have to listen."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Rose shifted position on the mattress. The central air had kicked on and it was shooting a blast of cold air right down her back causing her to shiver. She could see the edges of stress around Dean's eyes and on his forehead, but he had to understand. It was necessary for them to salvage their relationship. She didn't want to hurt Sam. As far as she was concerned, Sam could go with their father when he returned. She only wanted Dean.

"Now, Dean. I don't want to hurt Sam. Please don't make me." Rose watched with some satisfaction that even as the angry sparks in Dean's eyes continued to flash he lowered the gun to the floor.

"Okay, just – just calm down," Dean urged as he stood up.

"I am calm." She was calm. This wasn't about her being upset or worse yet, as Danny had once accused her, crazy. This was about Dean and their relationship. Why couldn't he see that? Men were so annoyingly clueless. "I just want a chance to fix things between us. You know we're meant to be together. Now kick your gun this way."

Dean kicked the gun partway to her, but the look of disbelief on his face upset her. Obviously she had a lot of work to do and her current position was growing increasing uncomfortable. "We are meant to be together," she insisted, scooting so she could rest her back against the concrete wall. "We have fun."

"We've gone out twice," Dean interrupted her, holding up two fingers. "Twice."

"We had fun," Rose reiterated. "And we really connected emotionally that night we had a long conversation in your apartment."

"That would be one of the nights you put something in Sam's food to make him sick?" Dean asked. "One of the nights my little brother spent miserable so you could spend time talking to me?"

"Don't turn it into something twisted," Rose scolded. She repositioned Sam so that his head rested on her shoulder. It eased the pull on her back and she sighed in relief. "This is about love."

"Love?" Dean asked, his green eyes widening.

"Yes, our love," Rose replied. Dean narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. "I only wanted to spend time with you, Dean. Give you time to realize how strong our bond was and how much we needed each other." She could feel the tears welling in her eyes at his angry stance and she wiped them away with her free hand. "But you kept letting Sam get in the way and you couldn't focus on us."

"Rose, I don't love you," Dean stated coldly.

_Don't say that, Dean! _

"In fact, what I feel for you borders on anger and pity more than anything else," Dean replied.

"Don't say that! It's not true!" Rose shouted. Sam frowned and groaned in his sleep. "Don't lie." Dean shifted his stance and mirrored Sam's frown as Rose resumed her angry rant. "We love each other."

"No, Rose," Dean replied, taking a step closer to the mattress. "You don't love me. Love means caring for someone all the time, not only when you want to. If you loved me, if you cared about me at all, you wouldn't have taken Sam. You've kept him here for days all the while knowing how much it was driving me crazy not knowing where he was. How is that love?"

"I did it so you would see the love," Rose replied through her tears. "You needed help to see it. Even now you're not listening to me and I had to get your attention."

"Oh, you've got my attention," Dean said, taking a step closer to her. "But I need to know, what did you do to him?"

"It's just a little Xanax," she replied. "To keep him out of the way while we talked this out."

"Talked what out? Why would you do this?" Dean's voice had risen again and he took another step closer to her. She tightened her grip on the .38 and he stopped.

Rose could feel the tears flowing in earnest now. Why was he yelling at her? Surely he could understand everything she did he had forced her to do. "You made me!" she spat back in self-defense.

"I, I made you?" Dean took another step closer and this time she didn't care.

"Yes." Rose angrily wiped tears off her cheeks. "If you had agreed to stay in town, if you had reciprocated my loving gestures in any way, I wouldn't have had to involve Sam at all."

Dean shook his head. "Rose, the minute you involved Sam, I could never love you."

Rose's breathing hitched as she felt her heart shatter.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Bobby positioned himself behind the bear and waited for the signal that John was in place further up the trail. Young Fred Beninger, pest extraordinaire, crouched behind a small boulder on his left. He shook his head once when Fred pulled out a cigarette and made to light it and the kid had pouted worse than one of his dogs if you took its bone away.

The sun-cat dancing above the trees signaled John's readiness to begin and Bobby lifted his silver bullet loaded rifle to the ready. They'd have to be extra cautious to stay out of each other's line of fire, but surrounding the bear was to their best tactical advantage.

Bobby looked over to Beninger to motion him to stay put only to discover the man was missing from his place behind the boulder. "Damn it," Bobby muttered. "If that kid gets me killed I'm gonna haunt him until the day he dies."

He stuck low to the ground and traveled behind the shrubbery heading to intercept with John. He knew John was mirroring his actions heading towards him and they hoped to corner the bearwalker between them.

He paused behind a particularly thick patch of blueberry bushes to scout out his next move when he glimpsed Fred's bright red shirt between the trees. He followed the line of sight from Fred to the bearwalker. Beninger had his camera out again and he was furiously snapping pictures. Why he had not invested in a digital Bobby couldn't say: Maybe because the quality of picture wasn't up to the expensive film kind yet or maybe because he was sentimentally attached to the older style camera. Whatever the reason – it was going to get him killed if he wasn't more careful.

The bear, having apparently also heard the young zoology student snapping pictures, spun around and clubbed him with a glancing blow to the head. The cryptozoologist fell to the ground unconscious, a jagged, bleeding wound on his face.

Before Bobby could get halfway there, the bear stood on its hind legs and roared. At this rate, he'd never make it to the kid in time. A thundering crack rent the air and the bear landed heavily on its front paws and turned to the left where John Winchester stood in the path, a smoking rifle held high.

Bobby ran full bore towards the bear, but before he could get within a safe firing range, the bear roared again and charged towards John. The other hunter steadied his weapon and took aim, but he did not have time to fire before the bear was on him and he went down hard. The rifle skidded into the underbrush when John's head connected with the hard-packed, bark covered path.

Bobby cut a large circle around the bear and stopped ten feet in front of it. Dropping his rifle in favor of another weapon, Bobby drew the crossbow and shot a silver-tipped arrow directly at the bear.

The bear growled and cried in misery, shaking its head as it walked deeper into the woods. Bobby could trail it later. Right now, he needed to be sure John and the kid were okay. By the time he walked over John already sat propped halfway off the ground on his elbows. He looked up when Bobby entered his line of sight. "Arrow, huh? I thought we agreed silver bullets were the best choice?"

"You know me. Always carry a back up plan weapon." He grinned and rubbed his beard thoughtfully, before extending a hand to John. "I should've known a knock on the head wouldn't be enough to affect that thick skull."

"You know me," John replied, lifting a hand to accept Bobby's offer of help. "One little knock to the head won't keep a Winchester down."

"Nope. Just whiny and irritable," Bobby replied good-naturedly. He noticed John seemed to be favoring his ribs, but did not comment on it.

John clapped him on the back. "Come on, let's go check on your Sam Sherry wannabe and make sure he's still intact."

"He ain't mine," Bobby grumbled, but he followed behind John all the same after retrieving his rifle.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dean stared at her in shocked surprise. "I, I made you?" He took another step closer and this time she did not protest. His gun was now within reaching distance.

"Yes." Rose wiped tears off her cheeks, smearing her mascara into a macabre mask. "If you had agreed to stay in town, if you had reciprocated my loving gestures in any way, I wouldn't have had to involve Sam at all."

She really was crazy. She truly believed this was about love and she obviously had no clear understanding about what the word meant. "Rose, the minute you involved Sam, I could never love you."

Rose crumbled before his eyes, her breath hitching and her expression shell-shocked. He seized the opportunity to grab his gun before Rose recovered. Her gun flipped from pressing under Sam's chin to him.

"No," Rose said quietly.

Dean raised his gun to the ready. They were only feet from each other now. "Rose, put the gun down," Dean coached.

"No." Rose kept her weapon pointed towards Dean and pulled Sam closer to her. Her arm slipped up around his neck and Sam's eyes popped open, glassy and confused. He sucked air in a wheezing gasp past his compromised airway.

"Rose, Rose," Dean said, feeling desperation claw at his chest. "You're choking him."

"Stay back, Dean," she replied, not loosening her grip.

"Rose, let him go now," Dean commanded firmly. He trained his weapon on her: from this distance, he couldn't miss.

He could see the fear in Sam's eyes before they focused in on Dean. The fear slipped into the background to be replaced by trust. He trusted Dean to get him out of this. Dean's resolve wavered. How would his little brother's hazel eyes look at him if he killed Rose? Would Sam judge him for it? Would he be disappointed? Would he stop trusting him?

"Rose," he repeated. "Let him go."

Rose's arm relaxed slightly and Sam's breathing started to return to normal. "Dean, please," she begged. "Tell me you love me."

"I'm sorry," Dean replied. "You don't even know what love is."

Love was so many things. His father's commands that kept them safe, his brother's trust, the training their dad subjected them to, to learn to protect themselves and the easy banter between brothers. It was the silent communication, shared laughter and practical jokes. Love was his father's deep-seeded desire to protect his family and his little brother's look of thankfulness when Dean ran interference. It was all those things and so much more, but it wasn't whatever twisted emotion Rose believed it to be.

"Let him go," Dean repeated again. He watched her face crumple and knew she was hurting. A part of him felt she deserved it after everything she'd forced Sam to endure and the fact that she'd screwed with his mind fell right behind it. He couldn't even muster up a decent amount of pity for her.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she stated so softly he barely heard her. "For everything."

Rose whipped the gun away from Dean in a blur of metal and towards his brother. "Rose, no!" he shouted. He pulled the trigger on his pearl-handled colt and two gunshots echoed throughout the cavernous basement.

TBC

………………………………………………………….**Supernatural**……………………………………………………….

AN: Woohoo! I managed another chapter before November!

Although, I'm not sure I left you in much of a better place.

By the by the Reptile Gardens are one of only three places to stop in South Dakota (NO offense to anyone who lives there ((including our dear Bobby))). We've just past by these places on our way through on the freeway: Mt. Rushmore/Black Hills, Wall Drug and the Reptile Gardens.

They have everything from regular lizards to Komodo Dragons. My son loved it.

Incidentally for those of you who aren't as big of geeks as I am, Sam Sherry is a famous Sasquatch hunter.


	9. Envy Slays Itself by Its Own Arrows

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **I don't know which cemetery they went to. I don't know where they are. Wait…no…they're not mine. That's it!

**Beta'd: **By the ever-morphing and fabulous Wysawyg. Not only is she a wonderful author, but a great friend who is willing to tell me the hard truths when I need to hear them.

**Thank You: **To everyone who is reading! A special thanks to the anonymous reviewers I can't thank personally.

**An Extra Thank You: **To Heather for her medical expertise on this one. I appreciate the help, even though it will come into play more in the next chapter!

**Time Line: **Early June 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam recently turned fifteen.

……………………………………..**Envy Slays Itself by Its Own Arrows**………………………………………

"_Let him go," Dean repeated again. He watched her face crumple and knew she was hurting. A part of him felt she deserved it after everything she'd forced Sam to endure and the fact that she'd screwed with his mind fell right behind it. He couldn't even muster up a decent amount of pity for her. _

"_I'm sorry, Dean," she stated so softly he barely heard her. "For everything."_

_Rose whipped the gun away from Dean in a blur of metal and towards his brother. "Rose, no!" he shouted. He pulled the trigger on his pearl-handled colt and two gunshots echoed throughout the cavernous basement._

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean's heart lurched into his throat and he swallowed it down along with a rush of panic. He ran the short distance to Sam, fell to his knees on the mattress and pushed Rose's inert form off his little brother with no regard for the blood on her or Sam. _His fault, this was entirely his fault._

"Sam," Dean pleaded. _Please, let him be alright. _"Sammy, come on man, talk to me."

"Dean?" Sam croaked. His voice sounded tired and disoriented even in that one small word, but it was heaven to Dean's ears.

"I'm here," Dean replied, as he tugged on his little brother's shirt to pull him farther away from Rose. "It'll be okay."

Dean tried to avoid looking too closely at the blood-spattered wall in front of him and concentrate on his brother instead, but he could not avoid it. The wound on Rose's shoulder caused by his bullet had done very little damage, but the shot fired simultaneously by Rose left a gaping hole in the back of her head and a red, flesh-dotted, spray pattern on the wall, Rose and his little brother. _He'd been so angry with her for what she'd done and a small part of him had wanted her dead, but this…he hadn't wanted this. _

With a steady pulling motion he dragged Sam to the far end of the mattress and stared angrily at the cuffs on Sam's wrists, the flayed skin and the deep purple bruising. He needed to get them off his brother so he could remove the crimson-stained shirt and check for injuries. Not to mention, removing the flecks of brain matter stuck in his brother's hair. _Jesus, Sammy._

"It hurts," Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"What hurts?" Dean asked anxiously. He grimaced as he reached into Rose's pockets searching for the key to the cuffs.

Sam did not answer, but screwed up his face in pain. He quivered and pulled his knees up towards his chest. "I'm so tired," he whispered before his features went lax and he lost consciousness again.

"Sam?" Dean shook his brother gently, but received no response.

Belatedly he remembered the lock pick set in his jacket pocket and pulled it out to open the cuffs. When the cuffs were unlocked he whipped them across the room and they skittered along the concrete floor. He slipped the pick set back into his coat and tapped it once.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again and this time Sam moaned lightly, but he did not move or open his eyes.

Dean carefully rolled Sam's shirt starting at the hem until he could ease it over his brother's head, keeping the cellular bits contained inside a cotton fabric cocoon. A quick check revealed a spectacular display of bruising on Sam's back, but the injury that garnered his attention was a shallow graze on Sam's deltoid from Dean's own bullet on its way into Rose's shoulder.

His moment of hesitation had gotten Sam hurt and it was a mistake that could not happen again. He had shot Rose to stop her from firing her gun, but he'd been a fraction of a second too late and she had fired as well with deadly consequences. If she had been aiming for his little brother…Dean shuddered unable to complete that thought.

Not wanting to use Sam's soiled shirt as a makeshift bandage, Dean took off his button up shirt and wrapped it around his brother's arm. That would have to hold him for now. He tucked Sam's t-shirt under one arm and hoisted him into a standing position.

"Come on, Sam. Let's get you out of here."

Dean pulled his little brother's uninjured arm over his shoulder and Sam's head dropped to his chest. When his knees buckled Dean bent low to get under his brother's dead weight. He flipped Sam over his shoulder and noted with dismay that Sam had lost weight. His brother's bony hips digging into his shoulder were a testament to how thin Sam had become between the bouts of sickness and his time spent under Rose's dubious care.

He staggered under the awkward burden, but never stumbled as he made his way towards the stairway. With a soul chock full of guilt, he slowly climbed the stairs out of the basement and did not once look back.

Dean had no trouble opening the passenger door and gently setting his brother safely inside. He placed his jacket between Sam's torso and leather seat to keep his brother's bare skin from sticking. He cracked the window and locked the door before shutting it. He stood separated from his brother by only inches debating on whether he should go back inside and clean up the evidence or not spare the five minutes and get Sam far away from there.

He knew what his dad would say and in the end that almost won out. Five minutes to clean up a mess that would avoid possible entanglement with the local police was worth the price of leaving Sam's side. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He had been looking for Sam for days and now that he had finally found him, he couldn't leave him to wake up alone even if it was in the relative safety of the locked Impala. He had left Sam in the locked apartment only four days ago and look how that had turned out.

Decision made, Dean ran around to the driver's side, slid into the car and peeled out of the driveway. He kept the music turned off so he could listen for Sam's shallow breathing. He didn't like how out of it Sam appeared to be and he had no idea how many Xanax Rose had given him. There wasn't a question in Dean's mind, Sam needed medical care.

A hospital meant they would be separated from each other by medical professionals, the same medical professionals who would have an ethical and legal obligation to report suspected abuse and no doubt about it, Sam had been abused. The police would be contacted, possibly even child services and, while Dean's police report earlier and the evidence at Rose's would support Dean's claims, he could not bear the thought of being separated from his brother again while the establishment put their collective brains together and figured it out.

What he needed was a clinic, a small, but busy facility preferably in a rougher neighborhood. The doctors and nurses there would have less time to ask too many questions and while they would probably still alert the authorities, they would not have the man power to separate them or watch them to make sure they remained at the clinic. With that in mind, Dean turned the Impala off Palm Avenue and headed deeper into the city in search of an appropriate medical facility.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

After he slapped the final gauze pad on Beninger's face, John closed the first aid kit and stuffed it back into his pack. "That should hold you until you get to the main peninsula," he stated, standing up and offering the young cryptozoologist a hand.

"I really am sorry," Fred replied, abashedly. He accepted the offer of help from John and nearly passed out when he went from lying on the ground to an abrupt standing position. "Argh," he moaned, "Head rush."

"Take it easy, kid," Bobby stated, patting Fred on the back. His bedside manner was notoriously bad and it still beat John Winchester's any day. Fred bent slightly and rested his hands on his knees. He nodded his head in response and Bobby left him in order to speak with John who had walked back to the trail.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Bobby asked, squinting in John's general direction.

"The tracks. It looks like rain and we need to follow after that thing and make sure the job is done before we lose the trail," John replied, not looking up.

"Why don't I follow the bear and you take Beninger to the doctor on the main land?" Bobby suggested.

John stood up and shot Bobby a look of disgust. "You want me to baby-sit your fledgling while you finish this hunt by yourself?"

"He ain't mine," Bobby protested out of reflex. "I was thinking he probably needs stitches and you could call your boys while you had reception. It's been several days; they may even be here by now."

"They better already be here," John replied, firmly. "And Dean has it covered."

"I'm sure he does, I just thought…"

"There's no way I'm leaving you to finish this on your own," John interrupted, "Especially not for an insufferable fool. He can wait until we follow the bearwalker tracks and make sure it's over." John looked over to Beninger and nodded. "Looks like he has his bearings back."

Bobby turned in the direction John nodded to spy Fred carefully picking his way over to them. His face was pale and he looked as if he was in pain, but he did give Bobby a half-hearted wave. "Appears you're right." He turned back to John and added, "Let's get this done. I'd like to sleep in a real bed tonight."

"Are you getting soft, Singer?" John asked, tossing Bobby a genuine smile.

"No and neither is the ground," Bobby grumbled. He waved Beninger to follow and fell into step beside John.

The early summer weather was unpredictable in the Midwest, but Bobby agreed with John. It smelled like it was going to rain. The tracks were easy to follow in the soft, damp dirt. A half an impression here and there, a large bent branch and drops of red led the way to the bearwalker.

Bobby spotted the man lying in the broken underbrush at the same time as John. "There," John pointed. Bobby nodded in agreement and turned to the struggling student.

"You stay here," Bobby instructed. "You don't want to see this."

"Are you kidding?" Fred asked. "I didn't trudge all the way out here and get bitch-slapped by a bear only to miss the grand finale of this journey into madness."

"Uh, yeah," Bobby replied drawing out the word. "Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Bobby and Beninger joined John by the fallen man. The old man on the ground breathed in shallow panting gasps, one hand weakly grasping the silver-tipped arrow embedded in his chest. John looked up from where he knelt by the man as they approached and shook his head.

Beside him, Fred took in a sharp breath. "How?" he asked quietly.

"I told you, you didn't want to see this," Bobby told him. "Stay here." He sighed deeply when Fred once again failed to listen and crouched down beside the man.

"What happened?" Fred asked, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder. The old man opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you're trying to say."

"Thank you," the man whispered, his eyes landing on Bobby. He drew in a final shuddering breath and fell silent.

"Was he?" Fred asked, looking up at Bobby. "Was he the bearwalker?"

"Yeah," Bobby replied. Fred staggered to the bushes and Bobby grimaced in sympathy at the sounds of retching.

John looked over at Fred and then back to Bobby. "Are you ready to get this done?"

"You bet."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dean started to pull over the first time he heard Sam moan. By the time he was able to maneuver through traffic to pull into the closest parking lot Sam was rocking in the seat and fumbling with the seatbelt. "Sam, stop it," Dean commanded, pulling the Impala into a spot farthest away from the other cars.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, surprise clearly evident in his tone. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Too bright."

"Come here," Dean said, simultaneously releasing the seatbelt and tugging on his brother's neck. Sam followed his gently urgings and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. He gave Sam a minute to acclimate and said, "We can't stay here, Sam. You need a doctor."

"No!" Sam startled and threw himself back against the passenger door. He hissed when his back came into contact with the doorframe.

"Sam, your wrist looks like hamburger and you're doped to the gills. You need to get checked out," Dean replied. He could hear the edge in his voice, but he kept his facial expression carefully neutral.

Sam blinked at his brother in obvious confusion. He put a shaky hand up to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun and licked dry, chapped lips. "What?"

"You're hurt," Dean explained, his tone gentler. He held Sam's left arm and raised it until Sam's wrist was in his brother's line of sight. "See? And a bump on the head, not to mention enough Xanax in your system to keep you knocked out for several hours. Do you know how much she gave you?"

Sam's face crinkled in confusion. "I uh, what?"

Dean gently released Sam's arm. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't see any other choice here. You need a doctor."

"No!" Sam replied fervently. He began fumbling with the door handle in an attempt to get out of the car.

"Hey, hey, stop," Dean instructed. He tugged on Sam's shoulder and he obediently sat back against the seat.

"I just want to go home," Sam stated his breath hitching. He hung his head, dejected. "Please, Dean. I just want to go home."

"Sam." Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He should take Sam to the doctor there was no question about that. In the light of day, Sam looked worse if that were possible. His face had an ashen quality to it and his body trembled from involuntary tremors. "Sammy," Dean started again, the apology clearly evident in his tone.

"Please," Sam whispered. He placed a shaky hand on Dean's shirt sleeve.

"Sam," Dean replied, resigned. His head, bent on doing what was responsible, waged war on his heart that begged him to listen to his brother. The battle ended in a sigh of long suffering. "Okay, we'll go to the motel."

Sam sagged in relief against the seat and closed his eyes, his breathing returning to normal. "But I reserve the right to change my mind at any time," Dean cautioned.

"I'll be fine," Sam reassured him. He closed his eyes and Dean leaned over and refastened Sam's seat belt. He could not help but notice a slight wheezing in Sam's breathing. He sat for a moment, tossing his decision back and forth through his mind and re-evaluating the wisdom of caving to his little brother. "I'll be fine," Sam repeated. "I want to go home."

"I know, Sam," Dean replied. He knew he would not be able to change his mind without a good reason. He flipped the car into reverse and pulled away from the shabby convenience store. He could research Xanax back at the motel after he patched Sam up and if it turned out it was more than he could handle, he could still take Sam to a clinic. He worried that it would be the wounds he could not see that would prove to be too much to handle.

"Thanks," Sam said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet, Sammy," Dean replied under his breath. He pulled out into traffic and headed for the motel.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam leaned his head back against the seat back and tried to quell the tremors running through his body. He knew he was in the Impala with Dean and he was safe, but he could not stop the minute trembling. He moved his head closer to his brother and lightly brushed Dean's shirt with his fingertips. "It'll be okay, Sammy," he heard Dean reassure him.

The shaking gave way to a large yawn and he could feel himself drifting off again. He did not want to sleep anymore. He wanted Dean to drive and keep driving until they were in Michigan and they were back with Dad. The lure of drug-induced sleep pulled him closer to the edge of awareness, but he dug in his heels and held his ground. He hovered on the divide of wakefulness and sleep, his fingers still clutching Dean's sleeve and his ears tuned into his brother's breathing. He didn't want to sleep. He was afraid to sleep; sure if he succumbed when he awoke he would be back in Rose's dark basement.

His fingers twitched compulsively and he felt Dean twist in the seat to look at him and light fingers brush his hair. "I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Sam tried to ask his brother why he was sorry, but he could not manage the words past unresponsive lips. It came out as more of a low moan and the hand in his hair disappeared.

_No, Dean, that's not what I meant. _Sam breathed deeply and tried again to form a response, but it came out as a light snore. _What's wrong with me? _Sam wondered. He could feel the anxiety rising in his chest again and it brought its good friend nausea with it. He heard a slight rustle of clothing and Dean flipping his cell phone open.

The sound of ringing inside Dean's phone echoed impossibly loud in his ears and then – Dad's voice. Dean had called Dad and Sam listened for his father's voice. _You've reached the voicemail of John Winchester. If you need help, leave a message._

"Dad." Dean spoke in a hushed voice. "I found Sam. He's, ah…" Dean paused and Sam guessed he was checking to make sure he was sleeping. "He's banged up. Not to mention she drugged him. I'll explain later. Anyway, he's pretty out of it. I'm going to patch him up and give him a couple of hours to sleep before we start heading your direction." Another pause. "I'll call you later, Dad, once I know more. You don't have to worry. I've got it covered."

The sharp click of the cell phone snapping closed caused Sam to jump slightly. He knew Dean noticed because his hand moved to rest on Sam's shoulder. He relaxed against the touch and felt the inexplicable anxiety slipping away. He allowed himself to dip further and his mind touched the gray fog of subconscious once, twice and then disappeared inside.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean pulled into the Arborwood motel. He had checked in several days ago when he moved out of the apartment. He hated that he would have to wake Sam to get him inside, but slinging his gangly brother on his shoulder would surely be noticed. He killed the engine and slowly slid out from behind Sam who had fallen further and further over towards Dean on the trip over from the convenience store.

By the time Dean exited the car and walked around to the passenger side, Sam was already sitting up and blinking to awareness. His hazel eyes darted about frantically, taking in his surroundings and his chest heaved. "Sam," Dean said, grabbing his brother's arms. "It's okay."

Sam frowned until his eyes refocused on his brother. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" Dean asked, his eyes scanning his brother's face trying to ascertain what Sam was thinking.

"For opening the door," Sam replied, his breath hitching. "For making you worry."

"Sam…"

Sam grabbed his shirt sleeve tightly with white fingers. "Please don't be mad. I'm sorry."

Dean rolled his eyes, they were quite the pair. "It's not your fault." The instant look of relief on Sam's face caused a rush of renewed anger at Rose. She had obviously toyed with Sam's feelings and thoughts as well.

He must have emphasized one word too much because Sam's hazel fixed onto his face. "It's not your fault either, Dean."

Dean pondered Sam's words, but he knew they weren't true. He should have seen Rose for who she truly was and at the very least he should have picked up on the clues that she was unstable. "Come on, let's get you inside," he said after a beat. The frown on Sam's face alerted Dean that his avoidance technique had not gone unnoticed.

His little brother tossed him a reproachful look, but Sam did not resist when Dean hauled him to his feet or helped him walk to the motel. "Can you stand?" Dean asked, gently propping Sam against the doorjamb. "I need to unlock the door."

"I got it," Sam assured him, sagging heavily against the frame of the door. Dean rested one hand on Sam's chest to hold him steady and unlocked the door with the other. Sam nearly spilled into the room if not for Dean. "I'm sorry. Tired," Sam apologized again.

"Stop apologizing," Dean snapped. "This isn't your fault." Sam flinched at Dean's harsh tone and he mentally cursed himself. He was angry at the situation, at Rose and at himself, but he wasn't angry with his little brother. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm not mad at you."

Sam's lips turned in a wobbly grin. "Now who needs to stop apologizing?"

"Shut up," Dean replied with a return grin. "Come on," he continued with a grunt. "Inside."

They staggered in together and Dean kicked the door shut with his foot on the way by. Sam tried to collapse onto the bed, but Dean urged him on towards the bathroom. "Do you think you can shower?"

"I smell that bad?" Sam asked, his grin having given way to a thin line of determination.

"No," Dean replied, easing Sam down to the toilet seat. "But it would be a good idea for you to get cleaned up before I look at where you're hurt and you crash." _No need to freak you out little brother, but I can't let you go to sleep with brain bits in your hair. _

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Sam nodded in agreement without pressing the issue. He reached across the small bathroom and turned on the water to warm up. He removed his shirt from around Sam's arm and bent down to examine the wound. The tiny window at the far end did not provide much light to see, so Dean flipped on the switch. A small groan followed and Dean turned back to his brother.

Sam pressed his hands tightly against his eyes. "Too bright," he complained.

Dean flipped off the switch and Sam sagged in relief. Dean vowed to get on-line to research Xanax as soon as he had checked out Sam's injuries. "Can you do this?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. He lifted his gaze to meet Dean's. "If it's quick. I'm really tired."

"I'll help you stand and with the sweats," Dean stated, wrapping an arm around his brother and lifting. Sam stood on wobbly legs, but he did not seem in any danger of falling. Dean pulled the gray sweat pants down to Sam's ankles and let Sam brace himself to step out of them. "You can finish with the boxers, right?" Dean asked.

"Definitely," Sam agreed, a blush climbing his neck. "I'll be fine."

"Leave the door unlocked," Dean replied, snagging the sweats and shirt to throw them away. "I'll be right back with clean clothes."

"Go," Sam insisted, pointing to the open door.

"Going," Dean said. He paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder towards his brother. "And Sam? Make sure you wash your hair a couple of times." Sam crinkled his forehead in an unspoken question. "Trust me on this one. Don't ask," Dean said. He waited for Sam's nod before leaving and closing the door behind him.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam stepped into the warm spray and sighed. The water cascaded over his skin, warming him for the first time in days. He allowed the water to run over his head, the gentle massaging beads of liquid soothing his throbbing headache. After only a minute or two, Sam could feel his legs getting tired and he decided to speed things up.

He lathered shampoo into his hair and rinsed, twice. He had no idea why Dean requested he do so, but he was too exhausted to argue with his big brother. His mind churned through recent events, but he found he remembered very little. He recalled the dark, Rose, and being cold all the time. He could not remember what order they occurred in or how long he had been there and he found it disconcerting.

A knock on the door preceded his brother's call. "Sam, are you okay in there?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, the weariness in his tone easily detectable.

"Are you about done?" Dean asked, his voice closer now. Sam could hear the notes of concern even through the haze of tiredness surrounding him.

"Yeah." He braced a hand on the wall of the shower when his legs started shaking.

"Okay, I'm leaving your clothes on the sink. One more minute, Sam. I mean it," Dean instructed.

"Yeah, okay," Sam answered, his fingers slipping a bit on the slick tiles.

"I'm right outside the door," Dean assured him.

"I'll be out soon," Sam managed.

He waited until he heard the bathroom door click closed before letting out a shaky breath. He was near the end of his endurance, but his whirling mind would not let him leave the comfort of the massaging spray just yet. It bothered him, that he could not remember Dean finding him or how his brother had managed to get him away from Rose. He didn't remember how he had hurt his wrist or when he had cut his arm. The bump on his head was a mystery and he knew Rose had done something to him, but he could not remember what.

He could feel the anxiety rising again and he tried to calm himself. It was not often he had trouble controlling his fears or pushing down his emotions, but he could not seem to get a handle on them today. He felt out of control and he did not like it. Sam turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, his bare feet hitting the cool linoleum. He pulled his boxers over wet skin, slipped a t-shirt over his head and left the bathroom still dripping water.

Sam made a bee-line for the bed. He took note of the booted up laptop on the table, but he doubted this small motel had Internet to plug into. Dean intercepted him and his brother's strong grip on his elbow helped guide him the rest of the way. Dean pulled the blankets back and Sam fell into the bed, closing his eyes and shivering against the cold. It probably would have helped had he taken the time to towel off, but he had wanted out of the confining bathroom.

Blankets were pulled up over him and Sam snuggled deep into the comforting warmth. Moments later Sam had nearly dozed off when the bed dipped and he knew without looking that Dean had joined him. Cool fingers touched his forehead and Dean's voice rumbled from the darkness. "You asleep already?"

"No," Sam replied sleepily.

"Too bad," Dean responded, his voice sounding sympathetic. "I think you're going to need some stitches in your arm and wrist."

"Head?" Sam asked simply, too tired to think of more words.

"Your head hurts or do you want to know if you need stitches in your head?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Sam yawned. He sought out his brother with his hand until he found Dean's knee. He gave it a light squeeze before letting his hand drop back to the bed to rest near Dean.

"I don't think you need stitches."

"Good," Sam replied with a small sigh of relief. He could hear Dean rummaging through the first aid kit and the crinkle of packaging.

He felt something sticky on his forehead and he raised a hand to brush it off. "Leave it," Dean said. "It's steri-strips."

"K," Sam whispered. He shivered as a blast of cool air hit him when Dean pulled the covers off his upper body.

"I think six or seven stitches should do it," Dean stated, his hand gently gripping Sam's arm. Sam did not even attempt to reply and he barely felt the pull of the thread through his skin. The darkness was surrounding him again and he knew this time he would not be able to stave it off.

He snuggled deeper into the covers as the tendrils of sleep invaded his mind. He stopped fighting it and let it come to take him. He was tired; somehow it seemed he had always been tired. Sleep enveloped his mind and he sank deeper into it.

He moaned when he felt the bite of the cuffs around his wrist, his skin worn raw from his earlier struggles. He moaned again. Somehow he had convinced himself Dean had found him and he had been free. He should have known it would not be that easy.

_TBC_

……………………………………………………….**Supernatural**………………………………………………...

AN: _Red Sky at Morning _made my week. Not only did I really enjoy it, the angst, the cougar attack (so fanon) and the bits of humor (did you see Jensen shove that entire appetizer in his mouth and still talk?) but the first victim's name was mine. I got to hear Sammy say my name like three times. LOL. How fan-girl is that? Now if I could only figure out how to create a .wav file for my phone. Hmmmm.

_My NaNo muses are taking a backseat to the boys again. (sigh) I should just switch to a Supernatural story now while I still have a chance to make my 50,000 words. :D_

_Curse those Winchesters for being so darn irresistible. BG._


	10. Envy is for the Dead

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **The Winchesters, the Impala and the concept belong to Kripke and the CW.

**Beta'd: **By the infamous Wysawyg whose blue beta bat of angst helped beat this chapter into shape. You, my dear, are the absolute ultimate! (sorry – Gidget flashbacks).

BTW – Wysawyg wrote a birthday story for me with all my favorite stuff in it. If you haven't read her story, _Birthday Bumps, _I highly recommend it:D

_I had homework to do after she beta'd so as usual, any remaining errors are mine and mine alone._

**Thank you: **To everyone who has been reading and reviewing – special thanks to the anonymous reviewers I can't thank personally.

**Many Thanks: **To MuffyMorrigan who helped me find the softer side of Dean - Brainstorming rocks! Also, thanks to Heather for her medical assistance. Thanks to Carocali for helping me work through some angst and to RhianaStar for sending some additional research info my way!

Sheesh – I obviously needed a bit of shoring up to make it through this chapter. LOL.

**Time Line: **June 1998. Dean is nineteen, Sam recently turned fifteen.

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"_I think six or seven stitches should do it," Dean stated, his hand gently gripping Sam's arm. Sam did not even attempt to reply and he barely felt the pull of the thread through his skin. The darkness was surrounding him again and he knew this time he would not be able to stave it off. _

_He snuggled deeper into the covers as the tendrils of sleep invaded his mind. He stopped fighting it and let it come to take him. He was tired; somehow it seemed he had always been tired. Sleep enveloped his mind and he sank deeper into it. _

_He moaned when he felt the bite of the cuffs around his wrist, his skin worn raw from his earlier struggles. He moaned again. Somehow he had convinced himself Dean had found him and he had been free. He should have known it would not be that easy._

……………………………………..**Pity is for the Living, Envy is for the Dead**……………………………….

Sam shivered and shifted uneasily in his sleep. He moaned low in his chest as his eyes fluttered frantically behind closed lids.

"_You ran away?" Dean shouted, angry spittle landing on Sam's face. "Do you know how mad Dad is going to be? Do you have any idea how mad I am?"_

"_No, I, she…" his protests were cut short when Dean grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt and slammed him against the wall._

"_Don't lie to me, Sammy," he growled. "You suck at it anyway. Why do you even try?"_

"_Dean, I'm not…" Sam defended weakly._

"_Don't lie!" Dean insisted, slamming Sam against the wall to emphasize his words. "Do you even care how worried I was? That I've been driving myself crazy looking for your sorry ass?"_

_Sam winced at his words, but he no longer made any effort to defend himself. Dean's words stung more than his aching back and head from hitting the wall. His arms hung weakly by his sides, but the left one burned when Dean grabbed it tightly. _

"_You are so selfish," Dean hissed. Sam stifled a groan of pain as Dean's fingers gripped his wrist harder. "You shouldn't have even bothered coming home."_

Sam moaned as his arm and head throbbed in unison causing his conscious mind to wake enough to chastise his subconscious. _You've had this dream before. You know this never happened. _He shifted restlessly, but he could neither regain control of the dream nor escape from it entirely.

"_You can take it nicely or I can force you to swallow it again," Rose offered. "It makes no difference to me." _

"_Please, no more," Sam begged. "I won't try anything."_

"_You know what the best predictor of future behavior is, Sam?" Rose asked, leaning in close to his face, the flashlight catching him in the eyes. He shook his head and scooted away from Rose as far as the cuffs would allow. "Past behavior," she supplied. "And you've been terribly uncooperative in the past."_

"_I'm sorry," he whispered._

"_Stop apologizing!" Rose demanded. "You're only here because of your brother. If he would just fall into line, you could leave."_

"_Dean won't," Sam recklessly insisted. "He's not going to do anything once he finds out what you've done."_

"_What makes you think he doesn't already know?" Rose sneered. "When he thought you ran away he was secretly pleased. No annoying, ever-present, clingy little brother underfoot. He's not even looking for you." _

"_That's not true," Sam replied quietly, but he sounded a lot less sure than he had before._

"_It is true," Rose insisted. "So make yourself comfortable, Sam, you're going to be here for awhile."_

"_No," he whispered so quietly Rose did not hear him. "No, he wouldn't."_

_When Rose handed him the pill and a glass of water, he obediently swallowed them both. She left him in the dark and went back upstairs. As the drugs took hold, he shivered against the cold before drifting off once more._

Sam curled his legs in towards his chest and shivered. He was cold again. He tried to open his eyes, but he was still so tired that even that small task seemed insurmountable. Tremors racked his frame and he wrapped his good arm around chest in an effort to get warm. He choked back a sob. He wanted to go home.

"_You're hurt," Dean explained, his tone gentler. He held Sam's left arm and raised it until Sam's wrist was in his brother's line of sight. "See? And a bump on the head, not to mention enough Xanax in your system to keep you knocked out for several hours. Do you know how much she gave you?"_

_Sam's face crinkled in confusion. "I uh, what?"_

_Dean gently released Sam's arm. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't see any other choice here. You need a doctor."_

"_No!" Sam replied fervently. He began fumbling with the door handle in an attempt to get out of the car._

"_Hey, hey, stop," Dean instructed. He tugged on Sam's shoulder and he obediently sat back against the seat. _

"_I just want to go home," Sam stated his breath hitching. He hung his head, dejected. "Please, Dean. I just want to go home."_

_Dean ran a hand through his hair, a look of frustration on his face. "Sammy," Dean stated, the apology clearly evident in his tone._

"_Please," Sam whispered. He placed a shaky hand on Dean's shirt sleeve._

"_Sam," Dean replied, resigned. He released a sigh of long suffering. "Okay, we'll go to the motel."_

Sam's eyes popped open and he let out a strangled sob. He was cold and in the dark just as he had been every time he awoke for God knows how long. He licked his dry lips and pushed with his feet until he hit the wall and scooted into a sitting position. He moaned when his back hit the wall and pushed off the mattress with his hands to ease pressure. "Agh," he groaned, unable to stop the cry from leaving his lips.

He folded his knees up to his chest, wrapped his good arm around his legs and rested his head on his knees. He could feel his heart racing and muscles shaking even over the ache in his head, back and arm. He had wanted to be home with his family so badly that he had dreamt it had happened. It felt so real, so much like Dean had really been with him that the loss actually hurt. He breathed deeply trying to reign in his emotions, but he could feel them spiraling out of control.

"Sam?" Dean's voice. It was Dean's voice calling to him softly in the dark. He hugged his knees tighter and tried to block out the deceiving call. "Are you awake?"

The voice was closer now and Sam chanted under his breath. "Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean."

"Sammy?"

_Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean._

"_Sam?" Rose asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shied away from the touch. "Are you hurting?"_

Sam shook his head. There was no point lying about it. She would make him take the Xanax regardless. A hand in his hair caused him to startle back and smack it against the wall.

"_Careful," Rose cautioned. "I don't think your head can take too many more bumps."_

Sam inwardly rolled his eyes. She was making jokes now? Bright light assaulted his eyes even through closed lids and he pressed his face tighter against his knees.

"Sorry," Dean's voice again and the light was extinguished. He heard the clinking of the pill bottle. "Can you swallow these?"

_Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean._

Sam did not move. The ache in his heart threatened to choke him. _"Come on, Sam," Rose urged. _Sam held out a shaky hand and felt two pills drop into his palm. Two pills. He hesitated. She had forced him to take two pills last time and that was when he thought Dean had come for him. He couldn't handle that again. _"Do you need help?"_

"No!" Sam cried out. He took a few deep breaths and added in a calmer tone, "No, I can do it." He popped both pills into his mouth and frowned when he felt a glass placed in his hand. He opened his eyes, but the dim light kept Rose shrouded in darkness. The closer he moved the glass to his mouth the more his hand shook and water sloshed over the edge and onto his t-shirt.

"Here, let me help."

_Not Dean! _

Rose wrapped her fingers around his and helped guide the glass to his lips. He gulped several times, but when he tried to pull his head back he found he was already pressed against the wall. He panicked and water went down the wrong passage. Choking and spluttering, he scrambled away from Rose and knocked the glass out of her hand. He took small consolation in hearing the shattering of glass against the wall.

Strong fingers gripped his arms and he struggled against the restraint. _"Sam, calm down."_

Sam pushed Rose away, coughing. He could feel his lungs protesting and the jerking movements pulled on his back and jarred his head. "Breathe, Sammy, you're going be okay. I'm here."

Sam bit back a cry. _Not Dean._

Warm blankets covered him. She had never given him blankets before, but he was grateful. He trembled under the covers, unable to stop the tremors running through his body. He breathed deeply, his anxiety starting to fade. _"Get some sleep, Sam." _Sam shuddered and yawned before sinking back into the tight grip of sleep.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

John gingerly leaned back against the seat in Bobby's run down heap. Bobby had taken Beninger inside the clinic and stayed to make sure the young cryptozoologist stuck to the cover story. John glanced at his watch; Bobby had only been gone for five minutes. He sighed impatiently and reached down to pull his cell phone out of his pack. He powered up his phone and checked his voicemail.

"_Three new messages."_

John hit the three on his keypad to play the messages and closed his eyes. He would never admit it to Bobby, but a few days of sleeping on the ground had left him tired and his ribs were still aching from his sudden impact with the ground. He listened as the mechanical voice continued. _"First new message: received, Saturday, June sixth. Fifty-seven seconds. To listen, press three. To delete, press seven." _John blindly thumbed the three key and replaced the phone to his ear.

"_Dad, call me please." _John sat upright and opened his eyes. He could hear the restrained panic in his eldest son's voice. _"Sammy's missing. He didn't go to school yesterday and when I got home…the shower was still running, Dad. But Sammy's gone. All of his stuff is here. Dad…" _John held his breath when Dean's voice cracked. _"I've got this one, but I wish you were here. Call me, please?"_

John hit the button to continue to listen to his messages. He pressed three to skip past the voice informing him the next call came in nearly two days later. He refused to react even as his heart hammered against his chest. Sam had probably been upset about something and gone for a walk. Dean had simply forgotten to call him back because of the excitement of the ballgame and everything was fine. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. Dean would never forget anything that important. _"Dad, I uh, I guess you are still out on Mackinac with Bobby," Dean said. "Sammy's still missing and I'm almost out of ideas." _John flicked the handle on his pack in agitation.

John heard Dean take a deep breath before continuing. _"I broke our rule, Dad. I had to." _A pause long enough John did not know if Dean would continue. _"Waste of time. Police think Sammy's a runaway and I can tell they aren't going to do much." _John could feel his own panic rising. His little boy was missing and his other son needed him. Not for the first he questioned his abilities as a father.

A fist banging on something solid came through the phone. _"I, I got it though." _Another bang, it sounded like the steering wheel now that he thought about it. Another deep breathe, this one sounded like his son was trying to compose himself. _"I mean, I'm working on it, but call me when you can." _John scrubbed a hand down his beard. _I'm proud of the way you handle yourself, son, but when did you start believing you had to handle everything on your own? _John tapped his knee repeatedly. _Probably when you stopped being there for them, jackass. _

His need to do something, anything, overwhelmed him and he sprang from the truck and headed into the clinic. He did not care if they stranded college boy here. He needed to get back to Florida and to his sons and he needed to do it now, if he could figure out how to teleport there, he would. He continued to listen to his messages even as he strode towards the clinic. His mind whirled so quickly he did not even hear the mechanical female voice prattle on, but automatically hit the key to skip to the message.

"_Dad." Dean spoke in a hushed voice. "I found Sam. He's, ah…" _John could practically hear his son's wheels turning. _He found Sam. Dean found Sam. Good job, son. _John stopped walking and took several deep breaths to compose himself. _He's banged up. Not to mention she drugged him. I'll explain later. Anyway, he's pretty out of it. I'm going to patch him up and give him a couple of hours to sleep before we start heading your direction." _What does he mean, 'she' drugged him? What the hell happened? _"I'll call you later, Dad, once I know more. You don't have to worry. I've got it covered."_

John met Bobby coming out of the automatic doors. "Got the kid all squared away," Bobby said. He pushed his cap up and squinted at John. "What's going on?"

"Something's happened with my boys," John stated. He shook his cell phone at Bobby. "Something's really wrong." _Oh God, I should have been there. I should have stayed with them._

"John?" Bobby's face took on a look of wrinkled concern.

"Sammy was missing. Missing for at least two or three days." John headed back for the truck and Bobby fell into line beside him.

"Was missing?" Bobby asked, correctly clueing in on the pertinent word.

"Dean found him," John replied walking back around to the passenger side. "He said, 'She drugged Sam.'"

"She drugged Sam?" Bobby asked, sliding into the driver's seat. "What exactly happened?"

"I don't know, Bobby," John replied, dejectedly. "But I sure as hell intend to find out." _Just drive the damn truck, Singer. I need to get back to my sons._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dean sat down at the table and ran a hand through his hair. Every time Sam had fallen asleep, he slept restlessly, kicking off blankets and moaning. He had seemed disoriented in the car, but just now it was as if Sam did not even recognize him. Dean turned back to the laptop, thankful yet again that the motel had internet to jack into. He had a sinking suspicion that Sam was not only dealing with what happened, but the after effects of the drugs as well.

He typed Xanax into the search engine and scanned the article.

_Possible side effects of Xanax include:_

_Drowsiness – check. _He doubted Sam had been awake for more than five minutes at a time since he found him. Dean continued reading down the list.

_Fatigue – check. _Sam had complained about being tired several times and he seemed barely able to hold himself upright. That was two for two so far.

_Impaired coordination – check. _Then again, Sam's growth spurt had left him awkward and uncoordinated for weeks now. That one he'd have to change to a maybe.

_Memory impairment - possible. _Sam had seemed to have difficulty recalling what had happened, but then again a concussion could explain that and the other symptoms as well.

_Speech difficulties - nope. _Chalk one up for his verbose little brother.

Dean sighed in frustration. Not only had Sam demonstrated some of these symptoms, but he felt the knock on Sam's head had resulted in a mild concussion. It would mask some of the signs and he would have that much harder of a time figuring out just how much Xanax she had forced on his little brother.

Further down the page, the side effects due to a rapid decrease in dose or abrupt withdrawal caught his eye. _Blurred vision, decreased concentration, decreased mental clarity, depression, heightened awareness of noise or bright lights, loss of reality, nervousness, rapid breathing, tremors, weight loss and seizures._

Dean leaned back in his chair, looked over at a sleeping Sam and scrubbed a hand down his face. How the hell was he supposed to deal with anything this big? At this point he could only hope that a little over three days had not been long enough to cause any lasting damage although he had noticed Sam seemed to be having trouble with light. Then again, his drowsiness, short term memory loss and sensitivity could be the concussion. The near panic attacks though, that was something else entirely.

He stood up and paced the room propelled by nervous energy. He tapped his hand on his leg and traveled tight circuits in the small room. Dean wished for something to punch or shoot, anything to relieve his anger and frustration at what had happened to his baby brother. Not to mention the guilt. A small part of Dean knew it wasn't his fault and that there was not any way he could have known that Rose was unstable. The larger part of Dean, the part that screamed at him echoed by his father's voice, knew he should have figured it out sooner. He should have seen it, stopped it and protected Sammy.

He flipped on the bathroom switch and used the refracted light reflecting off the full-length mirror to pick up the broken glass beside Sam's bed where it had shattered when Sam knocked it from his hand earlier. Sam moaned and twisted in the bed until one arm broke free from the blankets. Dean froze, his hand full of broken glass, waiting. Sam quieted and Dean resumed picking up the remaining glass. The irregular shards poked the skin on his palm and he contemplated squeezing his fist closed - the pain a welcome distraction from the guilt.

The guilt itself was a distraction from the real issue. A loss of control. He had no reasonable way of knowing who Rose really was or what she was capable of doing. He had felt desperately, terribly impotent to find his brother or protect him from whatever had been happening while he was missing. And now? Now Sam was adrift in a nightmare of confusion and Dean could not fix it. This wasn't skinned knees, bruised ribs or wounds that needed stitching. Sam's mind held him prisoner and Dean's super big brother powers were not only useless, but crumbling under the Kryptonite of helplessness.

_Get a grip, Winchester. Don't be such a girl. _Dean snorted to cover a partial sob and dumped the tinkling glass into the bathroom wastebasket. He had Sam back physically and he intended to bring him all the way home.

He resolved that from here on out if his dad or his brother were in danger, even if that danger was not supernatural, he wouldn't hesitate to do what needed to be done. Their lives came first and both of them would just have to accept that. Dean knew he could live with what he might have to do long before he could live with something irreparably bad happening to his family.

Sam shifted again and moaned, louder this time. Dean glanced at his watch. Ten minutes. Sam had slept ten minutes this time. His little brother kicked and his legs became hopelessly entangled in the blankets. "Nuh," Sam mumbled, furiously thrashing before scrambling backwards until sat huddled against the wall, face buried in his knees again.

"Sammy?" Dean asked tentatively. He started to reach out to touch his brother's shoulder but, remembering Sam's violent reaction earlier, he hesitated. _Please let me do the right thing._

Even in the dim light, Dean could see the minute tremors running through Sam's body, but aside from the involuntary movements, his brother remained still. He could hear hushed mutterings and leaned closer to hear what Sam was saying. "Not Dean, not Dean, not Dean."

Dean's heart sank and he sat down on the bed when his legs lost their ability to hold him upright. Sam startled, but he did not raise his head and Dean could hear the quiet mantra continue unabated. "Sammy?" he tried again and this time he could not resist placing a hand on Sam's head, hoping the physical contact would snap his brother back to him.

Heat radiated from Sam's now dry hair and Dean bent closer to Sam's ear. "It'll be okay," he insisted. "Open your eyes, Sammy."

The mumbling stopped, but Sam did not raise his head. Dean removed his hand from Sam's hair, gripped him by the arms and gently pushed him upright. "It'll be okay," he repeated. "Open your eyes."

Sam blinked, but whether or not he understood where he was, Dean couldn't tell. "Dean?" It was a tentative whisper, a fearful question and a hope-filled plea all wrapped into one word.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me." Dean loosened his grip on Sam's arms.

Sam drew in a shaky breath and his eyes searched Dean's face. "How long?" he asked softly.

"How long were you missing?" Dean asked, tightly. "Seventy-eight hours, thirty-two minutes." Dean moved sideways and sat shoulder to shoulder with his little brother. "How long have you been back?" Dean asked, his voice softening. "Four hours, eighteen minutes."

Sam's eyes continued to move frantically while he assimilated the information. After a lengthy pause he turned his head towards Dean. "You're really here?" The fifteen-year-old Sam was no longer visible to Dean's eyes, but rather a tall, gangly, lost three-year-old.

"Yeah, I'm really here and you're gonna be okay." Dean watched as Sam's eyes went from fear to relief.

Sam unfolded and reached out for his brother and Dean could not deny him. Sam buried his face, this time in Dean's shoulder, and his body racked with sobs. Dean held Sam while he cried, not pulling away from the chick flick moment or joking it off. If Sam needed this comfort, then he would provide it. Besides, if he was being really honest with himself, he needed it a little too.

"You're gonna be okay," Dean repeated, holding his brother tight. _I'll do whatever it takes, little brother. I don't know how I'll fix it yet, but I will._

When Sam was spent he simply collapsed in on himself. Dean gently lowered his brother back to the bed and recovered the blankets from the floor before spreading them over Sam. He stood up and watched his brother sleeping for a moment before heading to the bathroom.

He stood, leaning heavily against the basin, trying to gain control. He wanted to throw up, he could feel the bile rising in his throat, but he pushed it down. His hands grew slick on the porcelain and his face dotted with sweat. He ran cold water and splashed his face before looking in the mirror.

Water droplets clung to darkening stubble and hung off scruffy spikes. As he stared at his pale reflection, water dripped off his face into the sink and that's when he realized – his shirt was dry. Sam had cried, his face pressed against his shoulder and his shirt was dry. Sam was dehydrated.

Dean cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier and filled a glass with water. Sam would need sport's drink and he should have intravenous fluids, but water would be a start. He was half-way back to Sam when his phone jangled in his pocket.

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the caller I.D. before continuing through the room and outside, closing the door quietly behind him. Dean took a deep breath to quell feelings of shame and guilt before he explained to his dad how he had been fooled by Rose and Sam had been caught in the cross fire. He flipped open his cell phone and pressed it to his ear. "Dad?"

"Dean?" Dean nearly sagged in relief at the sound of his father's voice. No matter how disappointed his dad might be in him, he was no longer in this alone.

TBC

….……………………………………………………..**Supernatural**…………………………………………...

AN: So it is hopeless. I can't pull away from the boys long enough to focus on another story no matter how insistent the other characters are. So it doesn't appear I'll finish NaNoWriMo, but I have a healthy start and hope springs eternal. :)

I have, however, managed to pick up a sinus infection. Ew. BG.

_A special thanks to Phx for moral support when I needed it. _

Oh, and Wysawyg? You get to be right (and I don't concede that fact very often!). I posted the chapter after telling you I was going to wait a couple of days and get further on the next chapter. Come on, admit it, you totally called it. LOL.


	11. Love is an Endless Act of Forgiveness

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **My uncle owned an Impala. It was a 1981 and sky blue. Somehow – it's just not the same. Oh, and I don't own anything remotely related to Supernatural either. :)

**Beta'd: **By the ever delightful Wysawyg who has sharpened her wit and taken no prisoners. Thanks for patiently guiding me through three re-writes of the now infamous BvsJ scene. :D

**Thanks: **To everyone who has reviewed and a special thanks to the anonymous readers I cannot respond to individually. Thanks also to Carocali for a wonderful piece of advice.

**Warning: **Bit of coarse language in this chapter.

**Time Line: **June, 1998. Dean is nineteen and Sam recently turned fifteen.

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_Water droplets clung to darkening stubble and hung off scruffy spikes. As he stared at his pale reflection, water dripped off his face into the sink and that's when he realized – his shirt was dry. Sam had cried, his face pressed against his shoulder and his shirt was dry. Sam was dehydrated._

_Dean cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier and filled a glass with water. Sam would need sport's drink and he should have intravenous fluids, but water would be a start. He was half-way back to Sam when his phone jangled in his pocket._

_He pulled out his phone and glanced at the caller I.D. before continuing through the room and outside, closing the door quietly behind him. Dean took a deep breath to quell feelings of shame and guilt before he explained to his dad how he had been fooled by Rose and Sam had been caught in the cross fire. He flipped open his cell phone and pressed it to his ear. "Dad?" _

"_Dean?" Dean nearly sagged in relief at the sound of his father's voice. No matter how disappointed his dad might be in him, he was no longer in this alone._

………………………………………….**Love is an Endless Act of Forgiveness**………………………………..

"Are you both okay?" John asked, lowering his voice and turning his head towards the passenger window in a vain attempt to keep the conversation private. He considered Bobby an excellent hunter and a good friend, but some things were just for family and this was one of those times.

Empty air greeted his question and John opened his mouth to ask again when Dean's response finally came through. A long sigh, another moment of hesitation and then Dean quietly replied, _"I think so."_

John scrubbed a hand through his beard in frustration. "Not exactly helpful there, kiddo," he chastised, keeping his voice light by sheer force of will. He decided to start with the easier question for Dean to answer. "Are you okay?"

"_Am I okay?"_

Okay, so maybe not. _Stay calm, John. Don't yell. _"Report!" he snapped.

"_Do you remember the waitress I took out on a date a couple of times?"_ Dean asked. John detected the weariness in Dean's tone. He wondered briefly if Dean had slept at all while Sam was missing. If he had to guess, he would say, 'probably not.'

"Yeah," John replied. In truth, he didn't remember her, but he remembered Dean taking out a girl.

"_She wanted me to stay in town with her," _Dean continued.

John wanted to reach through the phone and strangle Dean a la the dad on that cartoon show his boys both liked. "And…?" he prompted. He hated having to drag information out of his son, who was obviously struggling with whatever had happened.

"_She's the one that trashed the Impala," _Dean supplied, a little anger creeping into his voice. _"And when that didn't work, she…" _A pause and a shuddering breath. _"She took Sam. I don't know how yet, he, uh – he hasn't really been in any shape to fill me in."_

"What do you mean he hasn't been in any shape to fill you in?" John's voice climbed a full decibel, his fear for his sons growing until it morphed into anger. Anger at the situation. Anger at himself for not being there. He took a deep breath, strengthened by the emotion. Anger was so much easier to deal with than fear and guilt. Bobby turned his head and gave him a look that clearly conveyed both his disapproval at John's tone and concern for the boys. John ignored both.

"_She drugged him, Dad." _Dean's voice did crack now. _"I don't know how much of the Xanax she gave him, but he's been pretty out of it. He's got a nasty crack on the head and I think he's really dehydrated. In fact, I need to get something into him now."_

"Wait, wait!" John shouted, afraid Dean was about to hang up. "But, that's it? Sam's okay? She didn't hurt him too badly?" He heard the sharp intake of breath, but pressed on regardless. "Dean?"

"_I don't know." _Dean's voice was barely a whisper.

"Well don't you think that's an important fact to find out?" John demanded. "You let yourself get involved with some crazy woman and you haven't even checked to make sure Sam's okay, really okay? Are you even sure she won't come after you or Sam again?" John's heart thudded painfully against his tight chest.

"John…" Bobby interjected.

"Shut up, Singer," John snarled, pointing his cell phone at Bobby momentarily before returning it to his ear. "This is between me and Dean." When Dean did not respond, John barked, "Well?"

"_I'm sure," _Dean stated, his voice carefully controlled.

"You better be damn sure," John continued. _Let them be safe. Let them stay safe. I'll be there as soon as I can._ "I'll be there in less than two days; you'll take care of Sammy until then?"

"_Yes, sir. You know I will."_

"See to it, Dean," John replied, his anger fading, leaving only a lingering shadow of fear. "Keep me informed, regular check-ins."

"_Yes, sir."_

"Be there as soon as I can," John said by way of good-bye and snapped his cell phone closed.

Silence reigned in the truck. The only sounds the tires on the pavement and the soft tones of Johnny Cash. "You owe that boy an apology," Bobby remarked after a beat.

"Don't tell me how to raise my boys, Bobby," John snapped. He absent-mindedly thrummed his fingers on the door.

"I'm just saying," Bobby continued, unafraid until John cut him off again.

"Well don't," John stated. His mind played over the details of the call and he clenched his fist. He did not know when his fear and concern had turned into an ugly shouting rant directed at his eldest that Dean neither needed nor deserved and he didn't know how he would fix it, but he had well over a day to figure it out.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dean stood outside the door, shell-shocked for several minutes until the glass of water he still carried in one hand reminded him that Sam needed him to pull it together. He slipped his phone into his pocket and went back inside to his little brother.

At some point while he had been outside speaking with his father, Sam had woken up again. He was once more sitting propped against the wall, head buried in his knees. Dean set the cup down on the bedside table and sat on the bed. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam raised his head. Dean saw recognition in his eyes and he inwardly sighed with relief. "You're here?"

"Of course, I'm here," Dean replied. His eyes searched Sam's face trying to gauge his brother's emotional state. Sam seemed less confused than before, but Dean could see the tremors that still racked his frame. "Do you think you could drink some water for me?" He picked up the glass of water and held it out for Sam. He did not want to precipitate a reaction like Sam had earlier.

Sam's brow furrowed. "Yeah." Sam's voice was barely above a whisper. He reached out a shaky hand and took the half-full glass from Dean. Water sloshed up around the rim, but stayed inside as Sam slowly lifted it to his parched lips. He tilted the glass back and drank in painful gulps, until Dean tugged on the bottom of the glass and pulled it from his grasp.

"Easy, you shouldn't drink that much so fast," Dean said. "I don't want you to get sick. I think you're dehydrated. Did she give you much to drink? What about to eat?" He asked the questions rapid fire, but carefully avoided the topic of whatever mind trip she'd played on his brother or anything else that may have happened. First things first, take care of basic needs.

The confused look on Sam's face would have been comical if not for the circumstances. "I don't really remember," he said quietly, looking down at his hands.

"What's the last thing you do remember eating?" Dean asked, his concern growing. _Come on, little brother. This shouldn't be a hard question._

"Pizza?"

"Tell me you don't mean the pizza you and I ate together," Dean said, his voice raising a notch in anger at Rose. He quickly softened his tone when Sam shrank back. "The pizza you ended up surrendering to the porcelain throne? That pizza?"

"I think so," Sam replied, looking up at Dean. "I don't think I ate anything…in the basement…and, ah…I don't remember drinking anything other than when she…" Sam stopped talking and lowered his gaze to his hands again.

"Hey, why don't you rest for a minute?" Dean suggested, reaching an instant decision. It was time to put some distance between them and this event. It was time to head towards their father and the security he offered. "I'm going to go check us out of the motel and pack the car." Sam looked up at Dean again, panic clearly visible in his hazel orbs. "It'll be okay, Sam. I can see the room from the motel office. I promise, no one's getting past me."

Sam nodded, but made no other reply. Dean watched as his little brother struggled to regain control of his emotions. He wondered if it was the lingering effects of the Xanax, Sam's experiences with Rose or a combination thereof. He needed more information, desperately needed to know what happened, but Sam came first. He had to get some fluids into his little brother before he pushed Sam past his limits.

Dean stood up, headed for the door and turned back around to face Sam. "I won't be long and I can see the room. You're safe, you know that don't you?"

Sam looked up and offered Dean a crooked smile. "Yeah, I know."

Dean nodded in affirmation and left the room. He tested the doorknob to make sure it would not open and walked to the motel office. Peggy, the older woman who had initially checked him in, was once again at the desk.

"Dean," Peggy greeted him. "Do you need something?"

"Actually, I'm checking out," Dean replied, walking up to the desk and turning so he could keep one eye on the door to the motel room.

"Oh, that's too bad," Peggy crooned, pushing her bifocals down her nose to look over the frames at Dean. "I liked having you here. You were nice and quiet. Not like those bikers that come through here."

"My brother's sick," he stated out of the blue. He had no intention of spilling his story to Peggy it just came out of his mouth without his consent. "I have to stop and pick up some sport's drink for him on our way out of town. Do you know the closest convenience store?" Convenience stores meant glass fronts, an easy place to keep an eye on his brother and pick up staples at the same time.

"Oh honey," Peggy replied in a sympathetic voice. "You shouldn't give him sport's drinks if he's been sick. Throwing up and such is he?" At Dean's nod she continued. "All that sugar on an empty stomach can give him diarrhea."

_Oh God, I did not need that much information, _Dean thought. He continued to nod as Peggy rattled off a litany of instructions and then she simply disappeared. He had obviously missed something. He shifted his feet restless and took a step closer to the door. He needed to wrap this up and get back to his brother. He took another step, fully intending to leave and let Peggy finish up on her own when she emerged from the back apartment with plastic containers of light, purple-colored liquid in her arms.

"Here you go," Peggy said, placing the lot on the counter. "This should get you through for a day or so and then you can switch to sport's drinks and light food."

"You don't have to…" Dean started, holding up his hands in protest.

"Nonsense," Peggy insisted. "I have this left over from the last time my grandkids visited me from Iowa. You take them for your brother. The popsicles are especially good for getting small amounts of fluid in at a time. He won't get sick and it'll help. There's only one here, but you can get more almost anywhere."

Dean examined the label on the container: Pedialyte. Dean raised his eyebrow and cocked his head marginally. Sam was going to hate that. He acutely felt the age difference between them and while Dean had been an adult for over a year, Sam was barely old enough for his driver's permit. He knew how Sam would feel about drinking this as opposed to sport's drink and Dean made up his mind right there to never let his little brother know. "Thanks," he replied, gracing Peggy with a low wattage grin.

"Think nothing of it," Peggy replied. "Now scoot. I can see you edging for the door. Go take care of that brother of yours." Dean barely nodded before scooping up the containers and walking briskly back to the room.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Silence filled the truck until Bobby caught another whiff of an odiferous scent. It smelled vaguely like… "You stink," Bobby declared.

John looked over at him and scowled. "You're no May flower yourself, Singer."

"No, I mean you stink," Bobby repeated. "Smells like bear shit actually."

John grimaced and shrugged off his flannel shirt. Bobby flicked on the internal light and both men examined the shirt. A brown smear adorned the shirt from shoulder to hemline. John held it up to his nose and gagged slightly. "I don't know if it's bear, but it is shit."

Bobby laughed as John turned the shirt inside out and wiped down the vinyl seat. John rolled the shirt into a ball and despite all of his previous lectures about, "Pack it in, pack it out," and "Leave nothing except footprints," he lowered the window and released the garment to the winds.

"Way to practice what you preach, Winchester," Bobby muttered, flicking back off the light.

Both men chuckled lightly before silence descended again. Time stretched and Bobby pressed down on the foot-feed intent on getting them back to the motel faster. He could see the tension in John and he understood the reason behind it. Hell, those kids were practically family to him too.

He watched as John resumed thrumming his fingers on the door frame in agitation, but whether it was the slow trip back from the clinic, preoccupation with whatever had happened to his boys, or John's proclivity towards impatience that drove the behavior, Bobby couldn't tell. The thoughts he had been mulling about for over half an hour bubbled to the surface again and he could no longer hold his tongue.

"I know you don't want to hear this," Bobby started.

"Then don't say it," John interrupted, brusquely cutting him off.

"You may not want to hear this, but you're gonna have to listen to me anyway," Bobby shot back. "You need to make things right with Dean and you need to get your head together before you get back to those boys."

"Shut up, Bobby," John growled, not turning away from his gaze out the passenger window. The atmosphere in the truck dropped ten degrees.

"John, I understand," Bobby continued unabated. He flipped off the 8-track to cut down on the outside distraction. "The boys gave you quite a scare and when dads get worried about their sons, it sometimes comes out, well – stupid. Kind of like when your kid runs out in front of a car and nearly gets hit. First you spank him, then you hug 'im."

When John did not respond other than an increase in thrumming tempo, Bobby pushed, ""What you did was verbally spank your son." He did not care how angry he was making John. Sometimes being a friend meant telling someone the hard truths when there was still time to make a difference and it was always tougher to do than an 'I told you so.' "You need to make that right."

"Stay out of it," John hissed, his tone darkening and his fist clenching. "I know how to handle my sons. I don't need you telling me how to do it."

"This isn't about me," Bobby said, his voice rising in volume. Curse John Winchester and his damn stubborn streak. "This isn't about you. This is about your sons."

"And I told you to stay out of it," John snapped, whipping his head around towards Bobby, fist banging on the door frame now. "Being the leader means you can't always be popular. Sometimes you have to make the tough decisions and pull rank to get results."

"You're their father," Bobby countered, turning into the motel parking lot. "Not their drill sergeant or have you forgotten that?"

"I'm doing what's necessary to keep my family safe," John stated in a deadly calm voice.

"Really?" Bobby asked, sarcasm dripping from his lips. "So all the times I encouraged you to leave the hunt and call your sons when we were out on the island, that was you, trying to keep your family safe?"

"Shut the hell up," John commanded. "People's lives were in danger and you know it."

"What I know," Bobby countered, going in for the kill. "Is that you saved people's lives today and it was at the cost of being there for your boys, protecting them and keeping them safe. That's your choice, your guilt. Don't go laying it at Dean's feet. He'll likely enough do that on his own."

"I didn't say it was Dean's fault," John retorted, the venom clearly evident in his voice. "And I don't need you of all people telling me how to relate to my sons or keep my family safe."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Bobby asked, his tone darkening.

"You know what it means," John replied, his implication clear.

"You don't know anything," Bobby snapped, "Just a load of bullshit from the drunks down at that bar." His frustration with John grew until his hat seemed too confining and hot. He grabbed his hat by the brim and tossed it angrily into the seat beside them.

"They may be drunk," John conceded, "But they're hunters and hunters talk. I know all about…"

"Shut the hell up," Bobby demanded, "I mean it, Winchester, don't you dare finish that sentence."

"What's the matter, Singer?" John asked, his tone edged with sarcasm. "Don't like it dished back at you?"

Anger flared white hot and Bobby did not reply for several beats. When he finally spoke his voice was tight. "As I said, this ain't about me and it ain't about you. It's about your boys."

"I know that," John replied, his voice cracking slightly.

Bobby allowed silence to fill the cab again. _Give him time to come to the realization on his own. John can be a hard ass, but he loves those boys. _

"Aw hell, I didn't handle it very well with Dean, did I?" John stated finally.

"He'll forgive you," Bobby said, graciously. "Those boys always do. Lucky for you too, because where one goes, so goes the other."

"You don't understand," John said, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. "I don't remember the last time I had ask Dean to take care of his brother, not really. He just does it. Hell, he takes care of all of us at times and I…"

"Was an ass," Bobby supplied when John trailed off. He pulled into the motel parking lot and skidded to a halt, gravel and dust kicking him around the truck. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. It's not the first time. Doubt it will be the last."

"You're probably right about that," John replied sardonically, gripping the door handle tightly.

"I'm sure of it. Now get out of my rig," Bobby stated with a head nod towards the door. "Get back to those boys of yours and do what you have to do."

He watched as John gathered up his pack and exited the truck without a backwards glance. "Winchester!" Bobby shouted through the still open passenger door.

John turned around to face Bobby. "What?"

"Thanks for your help with this hunt," Bobby stated, offering John what little absolution he could muster. "But understand this. After what you said to me, next time I see you I'll be just as likely to plug your ass full of buckshot as anything else."

John nodded in acknowledgement and shut the door. Bobby waited to pull out until John climbed into his own rig and peeled out of the parking lot leaving a dusty cloud in his wake. He flipped back on the 8-track dial and turned up the volume. A little bit of, 'I Walk the Line,' would help soothe his frazzled nerves, get his mind off the boys, Winchester, and the memories he had dredged up. At least that is what he hoped.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sam's eyes snapped open when a door opened and closed. It was dark, but he remembered where he was unlike before. He knew he slept in a bed in the motel room he shared with his brother and yet he could not stop himself from calling out to reassure himself. "Dean?" His voice sounded shaky even to his own ears and he mentally kicked himself. He should be stronger than this.

"Yeah, Sammy it's me," came Dean's reassuring alto in the darkness. "I have something for you to eat while I pack the car. Think you can manage it?"

The bathroom light turned on and it cast a warm glow into the room. Sam blinked several times, but his eyes adjusted quicker this time. "I don't know, Dean," he moaned, sitting up and placing a hand on his stomach. He swallowed hard, nearly gagging as his uvula stuck to the back of his dry throat. "Not sure I could keep it down."

"It's a grape freezer pop." The bed dipped and his brother's grinning face came into focus. A crinkle of cellophane and the aforementioned frozen treat waved back and forth in front of his face. "You know you want it."

Sam returned the grin and sluggishly reached out to snag the freezer pop from Dean's grip. He popped it into his mouth and enjoyed the cold, refreshing sensation on his tongue and throat. "Thanks, it tastes wonderful," he admitted, surprised at the realization.

He continued to enjoy the freezer pop every once in awhile making a horrendous slurping noise. He cringed in embarrassment, but Dean just laughed. The familiar sound had Sam grinning and before long he emitted what could only be classified as a giggle, causing the heat of embarrassment to deepen on his face. "Stop it," he chuckled.

"Me? I'm not doing anything," Dean protested. His expression changed from amused to serious. "Sam, we need to talk."

Sam felt his insides plummet. He did not want to talk. He wanted to pretend it never happened and ignore it. That is what his big brother would do and he was beginning to understand why. "I don't want to," he replied sullenly. He could not remember a great deal, but he lacked confidence in his ability to remain composed while he conveyed that little to Dean.

"How about I ask you questions instead of you trying to relay the whole story for now?" Dean offered.

Sam nodded his head, he did not want to do that either, but he might have a chance of maintaining shred of dignity that way. "Okay."

Dean moved closer and sat shoulder to shoulder with Sam. Sam leaned slightly into the comfort his brother silently offered. "Did Rose come to the apartment?" Dean asked, using his 'I'm calming the witness' voice.

"Yes," Sam replied. He took another slurp of grape freezer pop. A rush of guilt forced the next words from purple lips, "I thought it was you and that you'd forgotten your keys again. I didn't even look, I just opened the door. God, Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean banged Sam's shoulder with his own. "It's not your fault and that's the last time I want to hear you apologize for it." The words sounded harsh, but the tone was not. "What happened next?"

"I don't know." He squirmed uncomfortably at the vague memory. "There was a jolt of pain and then it was like I lost muscle control. I felt shaky and…disconnected."

"Sounds like she got you with a Taser," Dean stated. Sam could hear the anger in Dean's clipped tone. He crinkled his brow not sure he even wanted to know how Dean knew what it felt like to be hit with a bolt of electricity. "And Kevin helped her get you to the car." It was said as a statement.

"Someone did, yeah," Sam replied. "Really all I remember is waking up in a moving car and knowing it wasn't you or dad in the driver's seat." Sam felt the panic from that moment as if was happening again. The next words came out cracked. "I didn't want to go."

"Sam, Sam, hey," Dean said, twisting to look Sam in the eyes. "It's okay. We can wait." Dean rescued the melting freezer pop from Sam's numb fingers, straightened the tangled blankets and pulled them up over him. It was not until then that Sam realized he was shivering. He chalked it up to the freezer pop chilling him from the inside, but he knew that did not fully explain it.

Sam nodded at Dean's words and took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He was really tired and he hated himself for taking the easy way out, but he was not going to let the opportunity to wait pass him by. "Maybe later?"

"Sure," Dean replied. "I'll pack the car and we'll get going. Dad is on his way and we're going to meet him partway."

"Dad?" Sam asked. He wanted his dad, but a part of him did not. The part of him that woke up confused and disoriented, the part of him that would appear weaker than Dean in his father's eyes, that was the part of him that wilted at the thought of facing his father.

Sam's breathing hitched and he felt his stomach clenching, threatening to evict the small amount of water and the half a popsicle he had managed to eat. "Sammy, if you aren't up to this, we can stay here tonight," Dean offered.

Sam shook his head. He wanted some distance between Rose and himself. "No, I want to go. I don't want to…I…" Sam trailed off and took a deep breath and let it out forcefully in a burst of frustration.

"It's okay," Dean replied.

Sam noticed a flash in his brother's eyes. Dean was hiding something from him. He sighed and threw Dean a disgusted look. He could not count how many times Dean had said those words in the last few hours. He just wished he believed him as much as he normally did.

Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam could feel his anxiety dissipating and exhaustion settling into its place. He blinked in slow motion and yawned deeply. "Why don't you rest while I pack the car?" Dean suggested.

"Thanks," Sam replied. He slid down the wall in a boneless heap and nestled into the blankets. His head was pounding again and when his arm pinned between him and the mattress burned, he turned onto his other side and carefully rested his arm on his hip. He drifted off to sleep to the oddly comforting sounds of his brother packing up their belongings and lugging them to the Impala.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean tossed the only duffel bag he had taken into the motel room and the first aid kit into the trunk of the Impala. He started to shut the lid when he remembered Sam needed something to wear besides boxers and a t-shirt. Sweats would be the warmest and the most comfortable traveling clothes, but Sam's were a total loss. Dean had thrown them away without a moment's hesitation.

He rummaged through the duffel and pulled out his sweatpants. They would be a little too long and big for his brother, but the drawstring should keep them in place. Dean searched in Sam's duffel and pulled out his little brother's favorite, faded hoodie, socks and shoes. It was a warm evening, but Sam had seemed cold and Dean did not really want to run the heater in the car when he, himself, was so tired. The last thing he needed to do was compound his sins by crashing the Impala.

Dean entered the motel room and noticed with some degree of satisfaction that Sam still slept. He opened the heavy blinds, leaving only the sheers closed so the fading light of the setting sun could softly illuminate the room. He wrinkled his nose as the moving curtains kicked up a mildew scent.

He sat down on the bed opposite his brother and watched him sleeping. He was loathe to wake him, but Sam really needed to drink a little more and they needed to hit the road before he was too tired to drive anywhere. What he needed was a little coffee to keep him awake for awhile longer. With an unexpected jolt he remembered the last caffeine hit he'd indulged in was the coffee Rose had brought to him that morning while he staked out their old apartment building.

He pushed himself off the bed and rushed to the bathroom, tripping on a corner of discarded bedspread on the way. He knelt down by the toilet and heaved, simultaneously kicking the door shut with his foot. Guilt over Sam, everything he'd been through, the bullet wound, the drugs, and the who-knows-what else were compounded by his guilt over Rose's death. Red flashed before his eyes and he saw blood, Rose's blood, on the wall, on her, on his little brother.

He heaved again and this time it brought up bitter bile which he spit into the bowl. When he was certain he would not get sick again, he wiped his lips with his sleeve and stood. After washing his face at the sink, he stepped back into the room only to find Sam sitting up, staring apprehensively at him.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"I'm better than okay," Dean replied, brushing off his brother's concern with practiced habit. "I'm adorable." Sam huffed and rolled his eyes in typical Sam form. Dean strode to the bed and snagged the discarded clothes for his brother. "Up and at 'em, Sammy, it's time to head out."

Sam nodded, swung his legs off the bed and immediately pitched forward. Dean caught him by the arms before he could tumble onto the floor. "Easy there, Sparky," Dean cautioned, easing his brother back onto the bed.

Sam winced and Dean released his grip on Sam's left arm. "That was a mistake," Sam admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "God, my head is going to explode."

Dean inwardly cringed at Sam's choice of words and hoped his next words sounded calmer than he felt. "Here, let me." He slipped the sweatpants over Sam's feet and pulled them up as far as he could. Socks were next and shoes quickly followed.

He pulled the shoelaces tight on Sam's shoes and quipped, "I haven't had to do this since you were three."

"I learned to tie my shoes when I was three?" Sam asked. He had never heard that story before.

"Yep," Dean replied. "You made me sit down and show you one day when Dad was gone, wouldn't take no for an answer. You practiced all afternoon, but by the time Dad got back, you could do it on your own." He pulled the brown hoodie over Sam's head and helped guide in first his injured arm and then his good arm through the sleeves.

"So, I've always been a pain in the ass?" Sam smirked, beating Dean to his own punch line.

Dean swatted his brother softly on the back of the head before stating, "I'm going to help you stand." He waited for Sam's nod of understanding before slowly pulling him upright. Sam finished pulling up the sweats and Dean wrapped a supportive arm around his waist before guiding him out the door to the waiting Impala.

He settled Sam on the passenger side before sliding into the driver's seat. He started the engine and turned in his seat to face his brother. "We're stopping every twenty minutes for you to drink something. I don't think we'll go more than a couple hundred miles tonight."

"I'll be fine," Sam tried to reassure him, but Dean could hear the fine tremor in his voice.

"Yeah, well, I won't," Dean shot back the half-truth. "I'll be ready to crash by then." Dean took satisfaction in his ploy working when Sam nodded and leaned heavily into the seat.

"Okay," Sam said with a yawn.

Dean nodded before turning to the front, pulling out of the parking lot and out onto the road.

TBC

……………………………………………………………**Supernatural**………………………………………………………..

As always – Feedback welcome!

AN: Again, thanks Wysawyg for her suggestions. If you haven't checked out her stories yet – you should!

Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who live in the States!

And a Happy Thursday to those of you who don't!


	12. Love Leaves Beautiful Scars

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **I checked my mailbox and other than seven bazillion seasonal catalogs – nada. So, I guess I still don't own Supernatural. More's the pity.

**Beta'd: **By the awesome and irreplaceable Wysawyg. I JUST figured out what her penname stood for (well rather, my husband clued me in).

/bows head in shame.

I think I may have to surrender my geek title over that one. Oy vey.

Extra special thanks for beta'ing this behemoth of a chapter and for naming the cat!

_I removed the comma key for now. Sigh. Thanks, girl!_

**Thank You: **To each and every one who has been reading.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_He settled Sam on the passenger side before sliding into the driver's seat. He started the engine and turned in his seat to face his brother. "We're stopping every twenty minutes for you to drink something. I don't think we'll go more than a couple hundred miles tonight."_

"_I'll be fine," Sam tried to reassure him, but Dean could hear the fine tremor in his voice. _

"_Yeah, well, I won't," Dean shot back the half-truth. "I'll be ready to crash by then." Dean took satisfaction in his ploy working when Sam nodded and leaned heavily into the seat. _

"_Okay," Sam said with a yawn._

_Dean nodded before turning to the front, pulling out of the parking lot and out onto the road. _

………………………………………………**Love Leaves Beautiful Scars**……..…………………………………..

"Hey, Hansen, I've got the preliminary autopsy reports from Quincy downstairs on the Chastain case," Detective Martin Lopez stated, tossing a manila folder on Marc's desk. Papers and photographs slid out of the folder and across his desk. Marc rolled his eyes.

"Martin, why do you insist on calling him Quincy?" Marc asked, exasperated. He began scooping up papers and shoving them back into folder. "You know Dr. Lenard hates it."

"That's why I do it," Detective Lopez quipped.

"What did you have to offer him this time to push our case to the top of his rush stack?" Marc asked, knowingly.

"Not much," Lopez replied, his brown eyes smiling. "By the way, you'll be watering his houseplants and feeding Cadaver for two weeks while he's in Hawaii." He smiled in the face of the glare Marc shot him.

"Thanks a lot," Hansen replied. "I hate that psycho cat. She always launches surprise attacks and bites the hell out of my ankles. You offered - you do it."

Martin laughed, flopped down into his chair and swiveled back and forth watching the other officers in the bullpen. From Tina, who was furiously typing up a report, to the Captain who had some new rookie in his office reading him the riot act so loudly it practically shook the glass windows, and back to Roger Tate who was standing, as always, just far enough behind Tina so it would appear as if he was reading the report over her shoulder when he was, in fact, looking down her shirt.

A pad of sticky notes hit him squarely in the forehead and he stopped swiveling to glare at his partner. "What?"

"Knock it off," the senior officer replied. He leafed through the papers, found the one he was searching for and scanned the results. "Looks like Dr. Lenard concluded it could definitively be labeled a suicide."

"Keep reading," Martin urged. He leaned forward and tapped Hansen's desk several times for emphasis. "The report that the responding officer filed."

"A colleague of Ms. Chastain's appeared on scene at approximately 16:39, demanding to speak to the officer in charge. I acted on that behalf and yada, yada, yada," Hansen skimmed the report and skipped to the next pertinent piece of information. "Ms. Long insisted the victim's boyfriend, a Dean Winchester, called her at the Iron Skillet diner where both she and Ms. Chastain worked between eight and nine o'clock a.m. looking for Ms. Chastain. Ms. Long indicated that he sounded upset. Furthermore she went on to imply he may have been involved somehow with her death as Ms. Chastain had a track record of dating possessive and abusive boyfriends."

Lopez sat up straighter in his chair, his face lighting up as he spoke animatedly. "Get this, the victim suffered two gunshots. Quincy stated emphatically that the shoulder wound could not have been self-inflicted even if Chastain held the gun in her left hand. The angle is all wrong. Based on the trajectory, the velocity of the bullet on impact as it lodged in her shoulder and did not continue through, etc. etc. Quincy said the shooter stood between ten to fifteen feet away and was somewhere around six feet tall, give or take an inch or two."

Hansen raised an eyebrow, but otherwise let Lopez continue on his rant. Once Martin's love of forensics came out to play, there was no stuffing it back in. He simply nodded in all the right places, knowing an insightful point loomed in the near future.

"Secondly, the fatal shot is conclusively self-inflicted. He said based on the path of the bullet, the splatter pattern on the wall and powder burns on the victim's face, hand and arm that she placed the gun in her mouth and fired."

"So, either the other gunman was threatening her or trying to stop her," Detective Marc Hansen theorized, secretly pleased with his own deductive reasoning when Lopez nodded in assent.

"Yeah, but get this. There isn't enough back splatter at the scene," Lopez finished. He laced his fingers together, leaned back in his chair cupping his head with his hands and grinned with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Why would the guy trying to stop her clean up some of the mess, but leave the body and the gun at the scene? For that matter, why flee the scene if you're not guilty of something?" Hansen asked, knowing full well he was walking down the path Martin had clearly lined out for him.

"I wondered that too," Martin replied. "So I did a quick scan of all precinct shared files and Dean Winchester's name popped up. He reported his brother, Sam, missing on June 6th."

Hansen furrowed his brow. Obviously Lopez had scurried about this case like a frenzied squirrel stocking up on all the precious acorns of clues he could find and stashing them in his burrow to torment him with. "Spit it out, already, Martin."

"Rose Chastain has a long history of mental illness. She's been institutionalized and two of her previous boyfriends filed restraining orders against her citing she was stalking them," Lopez continued.

"That's unusual," Hansen replied. Martin may be onto something. "Usually men won't take that step."

"Right," Martin agreed, sitting forward, grabbing a pencil out of pen cup and tapping it on his desk. "So we may be able to assume that either her behavior was excessively aggressive and/or it happened to more guys than were willing to report it."

"That's a hell of an assumption," Marc replied, his lips pressed in a thin line indicating his disapproval. "Case work is about facts, not assumptions." That was a half truth. Evidence and conviction were based on facts, solving cases was often done on gut instinct.

"Work with me here," Lopez pouted. He tossed the pencil over a stack of folders onto Marc's desk where it bounced twice before landing on the floor. "What if she upped her game and took the brother? Winchester confronts Chastain who is holding Sam in front of her. She goes to shoot herself and the kid either panics thinking she is going to shoot his brother shooting her first or he tries to stop her from shooting herself by shooting her. Either way it doesn't work and she offs herself."

"That's reaching, that's really reaching," Hansen replied, shaking his head. "We don't even know Winchester was anywhere near that place and why would you think she had his brother? Where's the proof?"

"There really isn't proof per se, but the most convincing argument is there's not enough blood," Lopez replied. "Quincy said if someone was sitting in front of Chastain, they would have been covered by some of the back splatter. Winchester is obviously upset by the whole thing so he grabs his kid brother and bolts, taking the missing blood with them on young Sam."

"Good argument for your hostage theory," Marc conceded. "But still not proof positive. Not really even enough for a shadow of doubt. I can see how it adds up, but there'd have to be more to tie Winchester to the scene."

"You're right, it's not enough by itself, but there are other anomalies," Martin explained. "The blood on the handcuffs found at the scene was not the victim's blood. Also, a bottle of Xanax, but no drugs in the victim's system. Finally, we got a plate of food. There weren't any drugs present in the meat, but from the bacteria levels swimming in it, was cooked at least a day ago. Those items plus the missing blood definitely give us enough to at least question Winchester."

There it was - the glimmer of genius that made the hyperactive, often annoying and reckless, young officer worth the trouble of being his partner. "Fascinating bedtime story you've weaved there," Detective Hansen replied, scrubbing a hand over his balding head. "But she's a suicide, clear-cut. There's not a whole lot of need to search for answers much beyond that." Sometimes his jaded outlook after years of service really showed on him.

"What if I told you that I did a little more digging?" Lopez replied, his mouth curling in an enigmatic smile.

"You're the budding geek in training," Hansen responded, sarcastically. "It wouldn't surprise me."

"What if I said I tracked down where he worked, what kind of car he drove: a very distinctive 1967, black Chevy Impala," Martin continued, "What if I said I put out an APB and that two blue shirts in a squad car have spotted him still in the city not more than fifteen minutes from here?"

"I'd say you just earned that extra cookie tonight," Marc replied with a grin. He stood up and pulled his jacket off the chair, causing it to spin wildly. "Let's go."

Lopez returned the grin and followed behind his partner.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean swung into the Exxon and pulled to the forward pump. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Rose's body, but there was not enough gas to get them very far. He also wanted, scratch that, needed caffeine and he could get a coffee in the food-mart. As he turned off the engine, he cast an appraising gaze at his little brother.

Sam was pale and he still seemed to vibrate with involuntary shivers which Dean did not take as a good sign. His eyes darted frantically behind closed lids and Dean hoped that this time he would be able to sleep nightmare free.

Dean slipped out of the car and closed the door as quietly as possible. He hesitated by the window, watching for Sam's reaction, but he did not stir. Dean released a breath he did not realize he had been holding and turned to swipe his card and lift the nozzle from its cradle. His eyes scanned the lot, the road and the surrounding area in habit born from years of practice.

He reflected on the events of the last twelve hours and realized with growing trepidation that he had not taken care of everything he should have before they left town. He needed to poke around a bit and make sure the police would not be looking for him. Keeping Sam safe in the long run, meant keeping their family out of the spotlight. How could they do their job, seek medical help or effectively conduct an investigation if they had to stay underground all the time? Not to mention the need to stay away from the police or anyone who might report them to the authorities?

The nozzle clicked off and Dean spun back around to replace it to the cradle when a passing car's headlights glinted off the police emblem emblazoned on the side of a parked squad car. _Don't panic, Winchester. You know how to evade your opponent. _The question, of course, was not whether he could evade the police but whether he should.

It wasn't a hard decision, his instincts told him the best solution would be to get his brother out of town, get him safe and wait for Dad. Then, and only then, could he come back and fix things with the police if it turned out he needed to.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat and prepared to pull out when Sam moaned. He reached over and brushed a hand through Sam's hair, hoping to reassure him. "It's okay," he stated softly. Sam moaned again and leaned into Dean's touch in his sleep.

Heat radiated off his little brother's dry skin and his mind went over all the possible reasons. Most obvious cause: a possible infection in either the graze from the bullet or Sam's mangled wrist. Despite his words to Sam this afternoon, the first stop would have to be a clinic.

Dean pulled out onto the street and noticed the police car falling in behind him. Dean waited until they had crossed the river before attempting any evasive maneuvers. "Hang on, Sammy," Dean remarked. He held Sam back against the seat with one arm before quickly turning down an alley way. The Impala was a wide vehicle and he had to negotiate it through a tight corner and back out onto Chestnut Street.

Doubling back on his tracks, Dean drove parallel to the police car and back over to West Union Street as the police car pulled into the alley. Stepping on the gas, Dean passed the alley on Union as the other car turned to head down Chestnut in the opposite direction. Dean smiled and turned down the next side street heading towards the clinic on Macdill.

Dean glanced over at Sam briefly as he drove through the city streets. What had pleased him before now caused him to worry. Sam still slept and he could not help but wonder if it was due to the fever or if his brother had finally found a little peace of mind. He kept one eye ever focused on the area around him, alert to the possibility of more police. Being followed by that police car could have been a coincidence, but years of hunting had taught Dean that very few things could actually be attributed to happenstance.

Ten minutes and three miles later Dean pulled into the Convenient Care Clinic smirking at the irony of the clinic's name. He parked beneath a couple of large trees in a dark corner of the small lot, exited quickly and dashed around the passenger side. When the door next to Sam creaked open he opened fevered hazel eyes. "Dean?"

"The one and only," Dean quipped, hunkering down in the open door space.

"Good thing," Sam replied in a dusty voice. "I don't think I could handle two of you."

Dean's lips twitched in amusement. In spite of the fact Sam was battling a fever and his eyes plainly registered a headache of monumental proportions, the return of his sense of humor was the first drop of rain in a desert shower. "You think you've got it bad? I've gotta haul your heavy ass," Dean paused to twist on the balls of his feet and point towards the clinic before turning back to Sam, "All the way in there."

Sam's eyes widened. "You said we could go home," he said, a tremor in his voice. "You said."

"Trust you to remember only half of that conversation," Dean joked, trying to calm his brother. "I also said I reserved the right to change my mind at any time. Now, let's get you inside."

"I don't want to," Sam replied, petulantly. He turned swimming hazel eyes on Dean. "Please, Dean?"

Dean wavered on the edge of indecision and then mentally kicked himself. Dad was right. Sammy did have some kind of magical hold of influence over him. He would have to do something about that. He couldn't let his kid brother have the upper hand. At the very least, he couldn't let his kid brother know he had the upper hand.

"Sorry, Sammy," he replied. Dean placed a hand on Sam's knee and reestablished eye contact with his brother. "It isn't the dehydration because we're taking care of that. I think you may have an infection and that requires drugs. And drugs require a doctor."

"You can take a look and you can get drugs without a doctor; I've seen you do it. I know you can," Sam pleaded.

Oh, the kid was good. That one almost worked. "I can take a look," Dean agreed. "But if it looks infected…" Dean slowly unwrapped the gauze around Sam's wrist. In the meager illumination from the Impala's dome light it actually looked okay. A little red, but it wasn't hot to the touch and the stitches were holding fine. Maybe he was overreacting.

"We're here already, you could get it," Sam suggested. The look of desperation in his eyes was nearly Dean's undoing.

"I'd have to leave you alone in the car," Dean replied as if that explained it all. "Not happening."

"You don't trust me," Sam whispered, dropping his gaze. His next words were so quiet that Dean almost could not hear them. "I was stupid and now you don't trust me."

Okay, now that one hit below the belt, except Dean could see that Sam meant it. "Sammy," Dean started, tapping his brother on the knee. When Sam did not meet his gaze, he gently lifted his chin. "Hey, this isn't about me not trusting you."

Hazel orbs of disbelief greeted Dean's declaration. "It isn't?"

"No, Sam, you were gone for a little over three days. Not knowing where you were or what was happening to you?" Dean said, unhitching his knees and standing just enough to slide onto the corner of the seat next to Sam. He rested his back on the dashboard so that he could continue to face his little brother. "Those were the longest three days of my life. I'm not ready to let you out of my sight yet."

Brown hair waggled an affirmation of understanding back to Dean, but Sam averted his eyes. Dean knew it was because Sam was trying to piece together facts with emotions into the complicated puzzle that he saw as life. The world was an easier place for Dean to understand. Clear cut. Good and evil. Black and white. Yin and yang. Dean was pretty sure Sam's world was painted in muted water colors that ran and blended, still beautiful, but so much harder to figure out.

"You know," Dean continued. "I could say a lot of things about my geeky, emo little brother."

Sam did meet his gaze now, eyes questioning even as they flashed with a touch of annoyance. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "And stupid would never be one of them." Dean paused before adding, "Besides, I'll always trust you, Sammy."

A genuine smile spread over Sam's face. "Me too."

Dean returned Sam's smile. "Now, let's get you inside," he stated, sliding back out of the car.

Sam closed his eyes. "Good luck with that," he tossed off.

"Uh, uh, uh," Dean tut-tutted. "Less sleeping, more walking."

Sam opened his eyes and offered Dean a small smile of acceptance before it quickly disappeared. "Honestly, Dean, I'm not sure I can make it."

"Sure you can," Dean reassured him, reaching in and pulling Sam's legs out of the car. "You're a Winchester."

"I've never quite figured out what that means," Sam replied, his voice soft. Dean looked up into his brother's face in search of the truth behind Sam's statement, but his brother's hooded eyes revealed nothing.

"It means, you're strong enough to walk into that clinic," Dean replied, brushing off Sam's statement for now. One heartfelt moment a night was definitely his limit. "With a little help from your stronger, better-looking, big brother."

Sam huffed, but made no other attempt at a response. He allowed Dean to pull him from the car and together they made slow, but steady progress into the clinic.

The clinic was nearly devoid of patients when the Winchester's staggered through the door. The small waiting area only had two other patients, a pregnant woman with a crying toddler sitting on her diminished lap and a sullen teenage boy, probably a couple of years older than Sam. He wore baggy clothes and clutched his abdomen, periodically throwing annoyed glances at the crying child, but otherwise staring vacantly at the wall space somewhere in the vicinity of a large yellow stain. Dean steered Sam into the closest chair and went to sign him in.

The man, Andrew according to the name plate on the desk, appeared to be in his early to mid twenties and to Dean's eyes he looked as if he had just walked in off the street and plopped down behind the counter. "Patient's name?" Andrew asked, not looking up.

"Sam Cooper," Dean stated. He leaned across the counter for a better look at any surveillance equipment that may be set up around the clinic. The clinic itself was not in a good neighborhood and it was that very fact that had drawn Dean to it in the first place. He noted one monitor with three scrolling screen shots at timed intervals. Front door, back door and one view of the parking lot from the front door. Dean noted with some satisfaction that the Impala was not visible on camera. Dean glanced back at Sam. He sat slumped in the straight back chair with his eyes closed, but Dean could tell he wasn't sleeping.

"Fill this out," Andrew instructed, pulling Dean's attention back around to him. "Doctor Grainger will get to you when she can."

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. Andrew's flippancy made Dean want to punch him, just once, to knock that smug look off his face. He flung himself into the chair next to his brother and could not help but notice the visible flinch from Sam. "Sammy?" he asked, his voice low as an attempt at privacy.

Sam shivered, but did not open his eyes before answering. "Yeah?"

The notes of fear in Sam's voice, the slight fracture of his normal tenor had Dean folding like a house of cards. "If this is too much, we can leave."

Sam blindly reached out for Dean and when his long fingers snagged the sleeve on Dean's Henley, they latched on. "It's just bright and noisy," Sam whispered. "I can do it. Just don't leave."

Dean had to hand it to his little brother. He did not lack an ounce of Winchester stubbornness. His heart silently ached for Sam. He could understand the complaint about the bright fluorescent lighting, but it was not very noisy. In fact, even with the toddler's fussiness it was pretty quiet. "Not going anywhere, I promise," he reassured Sam.

They sat in silence for a moment before Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude."

"Not me," Sam commented, his response muffled as his head now rested between Dean's shoulder and the back of the chair. "I think the little girl is sick."

Dean blinked and scrunched up his face in disgust. "Wow."

"Yeah, wow," Sam agreed.

"Kiera Jackson?" A voice called from the doorway. The pregnant mother gathered her toddler into her arms and waddled towards the woman in the lab coat. "Mr. Addison?"

The teenage boy looked up. "Yeah, Doc G?"

"Are you here because you've been using again?" Doctor Grainger asked, a stern expression on her face.

The boy had the decency to look ashamed. "Yeah, Doc G."

"Go. Gennessy Place is three blocks over," Dr. Grainger stated, pointing a finger at the door. "You know the drill." Addison grabbed his stomach tighter and slunk out the door. Dr. Grainger read the chart in her hand before turning her glittering dark eyes on Dean. "Sam Cooper?"

Dean nodded and twisted around to face Sam. "Come on, little brother, up and at 'em."

"I'm tired," Sam replied. "You go."

Dean shook his head. Sam must be more asleep than awake at this point. "Come on," he insisted, standing and taking a hold of Sam's good arm. "I'll help."

"Okay." Sam leaned heavily on him as he guided him through the narrow hall.

He followed closely behind Dr. Grainger and Kiera until the doctor stopped abruptly at the door to exam room two. "You gentlemen wait here and I'll be with you momentarily," Dr. Grainger indicated, before escorting the woman and her child to the next room.

Dean helped Sam onto the exam table and turned off the lights above the bed leaving only the main light on. "Better?" Dean asked.

"Thanks," Sam replied softly, his breathing already evening out.

Dean checked his watch and noted it was half past eleven, time to call Dad and give him an update. He wanted to move away from Sam to call Dad knowing how his voice would come booming through the phone and anything he said might be overheard by Sam. However, Sam had renewed his grip on Dean's shirt and he did not want to break that measure of comfort for his brother.

The phone rang once, twice, on the third ring Dean prepared to leave his father a voicemail when his dad's voice came through the line. _"Dean?"_

"Yeah, Dad," Dean replied, inwardly steeling himself. The easy flow of their relationship on temporary hiatus until things could be sorted out. "Checking in."

"_You boys okay?" _

"I have Sammy at a clinic," Dean replied. "Just playing it safe. He seems to have a fever."

"_Dean, did you find out what happened?"_

Dean thought carefully about his reply. "I haven't pushed him, Dad. He's still fighting off the Xanax and he's been sleeping a lot." Dean sighed. Dad deserved the whole truth. He just hoped Sam would not see it as a betrayal. "He's having nightmares and he panics easily unless he can see me. I'm reasonably sure she played mind games with him." _Like she did me._

"_Any idea what's causing the fever?"_

"He mangled his wrist somehow and….I grazed him when I tried to get him away Rose." Dean felt the fingers on his sleeve tighten into a fist and looked down at Sam. His eyes were still closed and he appeared to be sleeping. _Oh God, I hope so. _"I patched him up, but I'm concerned about infection." Dean watched Sam's face for reaction, but his brother's face remained cloaked in a mask of sleep indifference and his now lax fingers fell away from Dean's arm.

"_I'm sure you did the right thing, you were protecting your brother."_

Dean paused, the unexpected praise momentarily striking him dumb. He walked a few paces from Sam. "I hope so. It's hard to tell sometimes he seems fine and then…"

"_Dean, if anyone knows what to do for your brother, it's you."_

"Thanks, Dad," Dean replied, breathing in a sigh of relief. Dean felt some of the weight of guilt lift off his chest at his father's words. "I'll call you again when I know where we are stopping for the night."

"_Sounds good. Good-bye, son."_

"Bye."

When the line went dead Dean flipped his phone closed and pocketed it. By the time he turned around he was too late to stop Dr. Grainger, who had entered the room while he was talking to his dad, from placing a hand gently on his little brother's shoulder.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_Rose gripped his cheeks painfully in one hand, forcing his mouth open. His piteous attempts to fight her only seemed to anger her more. She dropped the pills into his mouth and poured the entire glass of water down his throat in one quick motion. _

_Sam choked and spluttered on the water in his airway. He felt a familiar rush of panic unable to get enough air, he was drowning. He felt her open his mouth again, probably checking for the pills, but he had swallowed them. A loud knocking on the front door caused her to jump and Sam trembled. _

"_Rose!" Even muffled by the heavy oak door, Dean's call could be clearly heard. "Rose, are you home?"_

"_Dean?" Sam asked, quietly, his voice barely audible. _

"_Sh-sh-sh-sh," Rose hushed, running a hand through his hair. "Just sit tight."_

Rose placed a hand on his shoulder and he fought back, spurred into action by the hope that Dean was actually here. He struck out and took satisfaction in hearing the distinctive crack of flesh hitting flesh. Scrambling backwards blindly, his eyes scrunched tightly closed against the bright light, he felt hands on his shoulders, but the touch was familiar and the scent uniquely Dean.

"Sammy, Sammy calm down," he heard Dean croon. Belatedly, he realized Dean was sitting behind him, holding him in a tight embrace. Dean held his arms so he could not move. There were no handcuffs, no pills, nothing except his brother keeping him from flying apart.

"Dean?" he asked, blinking against the bright fluorescents.

"Yeah, Sammy, I got ya," Dean replied.

He felt one of Dean's arms move away before Dean growled, "Stay back. Give me a minute."

"Who?" Sam asked, his new friend panic settling in his stomach.

"The doctor, remember we're at the clinic?" Sam felt Dean rubbing small circles on his back and embarrassment quickly replaced fear.

"Yeah," Sam replied, looking around. He spotted the dark-haired doctor standing not more than five feet behind them. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Mr. Cooper," Dr. Grainger replied, stepping forward. "So, tell me what brings you to my fine establishment this evening?" She smiled and her white teeth glittered.

"I, uh, I'm hot?" Sam stuttered out.

He could feel Dean shaking behind him. When he spoke the laughter was clearly evident. "Wow, Sammy, even I'm not that cocky."

"Yes, you are," Sam snarked out of the corner of his mouth.

Dr. Grainger moved closer to Sam and produced an ear thermometer from her pocket. "How about I verify that?"

Sam nodded and seconds later he jumped at the electronic beeping near his ear. "100.2, not too bad," she stated. She leaned in close to Sam's face, appraising him and he sat back heavily against his brother.

"Oof, I need to breathe a little here, Sammy," Dean gasped.

"Sorry," Sam murmured, but he didn't move away. He did not like the doctor standing that close to him, staring him in the face, it remind him too much of Rose and the memory was too fresh. His breath hitched once before he forced himself to regain control.

"What'd you take?" Dr. Grainger asked. "What are you coming down from?"

"Wha', what?" Sam asked, confusion lacing his tone.

Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath from his brother. "Look, lady…"

"Doctor," she corrected, nonplussed. "And I need all the facts if I'm going to help your…brother, is it?"

"Then ask for facts, don't go accusing my brother of anything when you don't know what the hell you're talking about." The rumbling growl from his brother vibrated in Sam's back. He did not need to see Dean's face to know his brother was angry.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said trying to placate his brother. It wasn't okay, but he could buck up and pretend it was until it became true.

"No, it isn't," Dean replied. "Pertinent facts? He's dehydrated and I'm afraid the injuries he had stitched at another clinic this afternoon may be starting to get infected. They didn't give him any antibiotics and…"

"Lie," Dr. Grainger interrupted, pointing her finger at Dean. "Don't waste my time with lies."

Before Dean could say anything else, Sam jumped in. "How'd you know? Usually, only I can tell when he's lying."

"Everyone has tells," Dr. Grainger replied, dark eyes settling on Sam's face. "He had this head tilt, half smile thing he did and I knew what he would say next was a lie."

Sam licked dry lips, but it didn't help very much. "That's just his, 'I'm trying to charm you into believing what I'm saying,' look. He could be telling the truth when he does it. If he had tried to pick you up it would have looked the same."

"I see," Dr. Grainger replied with a tiny laugh. "So, chalk it up as a great guess. I'm usually not wrong though." She hijacked him with the next question. "So, what are you on?"

Sam dropped his gaze. "Xanax," he replied softly. "She gave me Xanax."

Dr. Grainger nodded, but did not ask for clarification. She pulled her stethoscope from around her neck and asked, "Can you take off that hoodie for me? I'd like to take a listen. So where are these aforementioned injuries?"

Sam managed to get his good arm out of the sleeve, but he had difficulty getting his other arm free. "My wrist."

Dean's voice sounded close to his ear as he helped him get the sweatshirt off. "And his arm."

_His arm? How did he hurt his arm? He couldn't remember._

"Think you can tell me the whole story?" Dr. Grainger asked, looking Sam in the eyes. "At least, as your brother put it, the pertinent facts?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, his voice surprisingly steady. He took a deep breath. "I don't really know how much Xanax she gave me, things are pretty hazy, but Dean said I was…gone…for three days if that helps."

Dr. Grainger nodded. "It helps. Depending on the dosage, you should be able to sleep off most of the effects, but it is different for everyone and you're really too young to be taking it at all. The good news is it shouldn't cause lasting problems. Any headaches, dizziness, anxiety?"

Sam flushed with embarrassment. He did not want to admit to anxiety or panic with Dean sitting right behind him. Dean would not panic and Sam did not want his big brother to think he wasn't Winchester strong.

The silence continued too long and Dean filled in the response. "All three."

Sam jumped at the cold stethoscope on his chest. He wanted to leave. He heard Dr. Grainger ask him something and Dean's voice respond, but the blood pounding in his ears made it impossible to understand. Cold hit his back and he jumped, trying to escape the sensation.

He still could not make out what Dean was saying, but the cadence was soothing. He tried to respond, but he could not force the words from his brain to his lips. Sound returned in a rush and he caught the end of something Dean was saying.

"…..every twenty minutes, but I can tell…"

"I concur," Dr. Grainger interrupted. "Sam, I think you're brother is right and I'd like to start an I.V. before I conduct the rest of the exam. It'll help you hydrate faster and you'll feel better," Dr. Grainger stated.

Sam did not trust himself to speak, so he settled for a head nod. "You back with me, Sammy?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's arms. Another head bob and this time Sam honestly thought he might lose consciousness when black spots danced before his eyes. He blinked rapidly, then squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on what Dean was saying instead.

"Just breathe, Sammy, it'll be done in a minute." He hadn't felt the pinch on his uninjured wrist before Dean said anything and now he only wanted away from it. He did not need to be handcuffed anymore; it wasn't as if he could get anywhere. He was too tired. Why wasn't Dean helping him?

"Dean," Sam whispered, so low that he could not hear it over the renewed pounding in his ears. _"Don't leave me alone in the dark. I don't want to be here anymore," _he thought. _"I didn't run away. I didn't."_

"I'm not leaving, Sammy," Dean's voice sounded over the breaking white noise filling his ears. Sam's breathing hitched as he took reassurance from his big brother. Why did he sound upset? Had Rose trapped him too?

"_Please be careful," _Sam remembered thinking those words before. _"I don't know what she'll do. Be careful."_

The cadence of his brother's voice was back, the deep, rumbling reassurances that Sam had responded to all his life. He could not make out what Dean was saying, but it did not matter. He was here and as long as he had his brother, things would be alright.

Sam felt a pull on his injured arm and fingers lightly gripping his wrist. He struggled to get away from the touch, but Dean's embrace grew tighter around him and he sagged back against his brother, depleted. _"Please come soon. I don't know how much longer I can fight back. I'm so tired."_

Fingers dragged through his hair and Sam knew they belonged to his brother. He trembled from sheer exhaustion and tried to open heavy eyelids, but they would not cooperate. He heard someone talking and even as he felt his body surrendering the fight to stay awake the voices solidified until he could understand the words.

"Have they all been that bad?"

"No, never anything like that." That was Dean, but he sounded upset or was it worried? Sam could not tell. It almost sounded like Dean was crying, but that wasn't possible. Dean didn't cry. "It was a mistake to bring him here."

"No, it wasn't." The tone was sharp and Sam flinched slightly. At least he thought he did. "He was moderately dehydrated and his reserves were obviously depleted leaving him susceptible to illness. And you were right those wounds do have the beginning signs of infection. I'm surprised they didn't give you antibiotics before, but I have to admit I haven't seen stitches that small and that precise since my internship in the surgical unit. He should have minimal scarring."

The words did not make all that much sense, but Sam tried to focus. Dean was here and he knew that meant he wasn't alone anymore. He could hear someone crying and he wondered if the sick toddler was nearby. Dean shifted behind him and Sam reached for him, grabbing his arm and squeezing convulsively. His brother couldn't leave, not now. Sam was sure that Dean was the only thing keeping him from shattering into pieces and crumbling to ruin.

"Not going anywhere, Sammy," Dean reassured him. Dean knew. Somehow he always knew. "Just trying to get a little feeling back in my legs."

"Since you don't have insurance, I'm going to give you some free samples." The other voice again. "You can stay here for awhile and then Andrew can help you get Sam into a wheelchair so you can take him home."

"I can manage Sammy just fine." Dean's voice this time, clipped and no nonsense.

"I'm sure you can."

Sam sank lower into the waiting blackness and the last thing he heard was his brother's reassuring rumble soothing him from far away.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

After Dr. Grainger left him alone in the room with his little brother, Dean brushed a traitorous tear from his cheek and took a deep breath. At least he had managed to keep it in check until the doctor left. He dried Sam's still damp face with the hem of his shirt and leaned back against the wall for support.

He sincerely hoped this was a one time event. Sam's desperate, nearly screaming, pleas were a glimpse into the three days he had spent with Rose. She had left Sam in the dark, alone and drugged? He clenched his fist in frustration unable to wrap his brain around how Rose's mind worked and not sure he even cared. It was the last part that made him question himself at times.

Dean ran through a new list in his head: mild concussion, moderate dehydration, minor withdrawal symptoms, the beginnings of infection in his wrist and arm, and assorted bumps and bruises. Topping the list was the fact the bitch had messed with Sam's head, culminating in the massive panic attack he'd been forced to watch.

Dr. Grainger told him that the drugs and concussion were lowering Sam's ability to cope with a traumatic event and reassured him that, as the drugs wore off completely Sam would be better able to cope with those feelings and move forward.

"_Certainly hope so, because Sam has to be alright," _Dean thought. He had never seen Sam behave like that before. As much grief as he gave Sam for being sensitive or teased him about being a girl, Sam wasn't an out of control emotional train wreck. He had been powerless to do anything except hold his little brother and hope it would be enough. Dean's heart pounded in his chest, but he ruthlessly stomped the feeling of helplessness back down when it threatened to make an appearance.

Dean cocked his head. He thought he heard voices out in the hall. "I'll be right here, Sammy," he reassured his brother, sliding out from behind him for the first time in nearly an hour. Sam whimpered in his sleep. "You're okay, I'm right here."

He eased behind the half-empty I.V. bag, dangling from a metal stand and slowly opened the door. Two men were standing at the door to the doctor's office. Dean could tell from here that they were cops by the barely visible bulge from their shoulder holsters and their authoritative stance.

"Doctor Grainger," the shorter, Hispanic man stated. "We only need to speak to the owner of the Impala out front. We can do that here for now, but we do need to speak to him about a potential homicide."

"And I told you, my patient needs to rest undisturbed. He's not in any condition to have visitors of any sort," Dr. Grainger's sharp tone cut into the heart of the matter. "Unless you have a warrant or you plan to arrest someone here tonight, you'll have to wait."

Dean quietly shut the door and strode back to his brother. "Time to go, Sammy," he said, quietly.

"Dean?" A sleepy, almost child-like Sam responded.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied, helping Sam sit up. Sam's head bobbed upon a boneless neck, his chin finally resting on his chest. "We have to leave."

"I want to leave," Sam mumbled, the words slurring. "Don't want to be here anymore."

"I know, kiddo," Dean replied, his heart breaking until it thudded painfully in his tight chest. "I need your help. Can you walk?" Sam did not respond other than an uncontrolled head bobble.

Dean held Sam upright with a hand on his chest and reached behind him with the other to remove the I.V. bag from the pole. He wanted Sam to get the full benefit after the price they had both paid for the medical assistance. He pulled one of Sam's arms over his neck and levered him into a standing position. Sam's legs buckled and Dean looked around him, desperately trying to find a way to improvise. He knew he did not have much time.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Just five minutes, Doctor Grainger," Detective Hansen stated. "We'll be in and out in no time."

"I'm afraid I can't agree to that," Dr. Grainger replied. She tapped her fingers on the desk in agitation. It was hard enough to get people in this neighborhood to seek medical help. The appearance of the police only made it that much more difficult.

"We really will keep it to five minutes," Detective Lopez tried to reassure her, shooting her a charming smile. "He's not in any trouble, we just need a few answers."

"Then I'm sure it can wait," Dr. Grainger replied, sensibly. "He is with one of my patients right now and I don't want him disturbed."

"Would that be Sam?" Hansen asked, pointedly.

Dr. Grainger schooled her features, but she knew Hansen had picked up on the truth, regardless. She jumped from her chair when the detectives abruptly left her office and headed down the hallway. "I really must protest," she snapped. "You have no right to barge into one of my exam rooms."

"We'll be quick," Lopez reiterated, turning to face the doctor as he continued to walk down the hall. She smothered a chuckle when it caused him to run smack dab into his partner.

"Watch it, Martin," Marc growled. "This the room?" He pointed at the door to exam room two. Dr. Grainger crossed her arms and refused to answer. "Fine, we'll try both."

The detective opened the door and stepped inside. Seconds later he gestured to his partner and they continued down the hall to the other exam room. Confused, Dr. Grainger stepped into the exam room and looked around incredulously. There was not a sign anyone had been in there recently other than rumpled tissue sheeting on the bed. A light summer breeze blew through the open window. Surely they hadn't?

The brothers were gone.

_TBC_

…………………………………..…………………….**Supernatural**………………………………………………………….

As always – Feedback welcome!

AN: Wee! I didn't think I'd make it this week, but I did! We are just swamped at work!

Almost there folks – thanks for reading!


	13. Love Heals All Wounds

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **I don't even own a Supernatural calendar.

/pouts

**Beta'd: **By Wysawyg: a wonderful friend, a superb author and the best editor/proofreader/beta extraordinaire a girl could hope for!

**Thank you: **To everyone who has been reading! Another thank you to the anonymous reviewers I cannot thank personally. All feedback has been very much appreciated.

**Time Line: **June, 1998. Dean is nineteen. Sam recently turned fifteen.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_The detective opened the door and stepped inside. Seconds later he gestured to his partner and they continued down the hall to the other exam room. Confused, Dr. Grainger stepped into the exam room and looked around incredulously. There was not a sign anyone had been in there recently other than rumpled tissue sheeting on the bed. A light summer breeze blew through the open window. Surely they hadn't? _

_The brothers were gone._

………………………………………………….**Love Heals All Wounds**…………………………………………………

"_I'm sorry, Dean," she stated so softly he barely heard her. "For everything."_

_Rose whipped her gun away from Dean in a blur of metal and towards his brother. "Rose, no!" he shouted. He pulled the trigger on his pearl-handled colt and two gunshots echoed throughout the cavernous basement._

_Dean's heart lurched into his throat and he swallowed it down along with a rush of panic. He ran the short distance to Sam, fell to his knees on the mattress and pushed Rose's inert form off his little brother with no regard for the blood on her or Sam. His fault, this was entirely his fault._

"_Sam," Dean pleaded. Please, let him be alright. "Sammy, come on man, talk to me."_

_Dean rolled his brother over and startled back in shocked horror at the sight of his little brother's lifeless eyes. "Sam!"_

Dean gasped awake and scrubbed a shaky hand down his sweaty face. Within several quick beats, he oriented to the new motel room he had checked them into…he flipped onto his belly to check the digital display on the clock…three hours ago. It was only three hours ago. Damn.

Soft mewling from the next bed alerted Dean to Sam's distress. The nightmare still fresh in his mind, the sound actually relieved him in a way, proof that his brother was alive and well. He stretched and turned to his side to slip out of his bed and over to Sam. The soft rays of the rising sun illuminated the room and Dean could easily discern the crinkled brow that signaled Sam was trapped in a nightmare too.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and allowed it to fall abruptly to his side, slapping against the bare skin on his thigh. _Screw Sam's personal space. _He sat on the edge of the bed and Sam immediately moved in his sleep to grant him room. He braced his back against the headboard and stretched his legs out in front of him. He still had time to catch a little more sleep.

Dean had barely situated himself when Sam curled over him and settled in. Dean wrapped an arm around his little brother and leaned his head back against the wall. The days of stress and little sleep were taking their toll, but Dean still had difficulty going back to sleep. He had pushed past his exhaustion barrier while he was driving into the wee hours of the morning and now he was having trouble turning his mind off.

They had stopped several times during the nearly one hundred mile drive out of Tampa to Ocala. The first stop included Dean pulling the antibiotics from Dr. Grainger out of his pocket and shaking out Sam's first dose. Sam had swallowed down the pills with a small cup of Pedialyte. The emotionally drained Sam had needed Dean's help with the cup, but overall the stop had been unremarkable.

The second stop on their pancake tour had proven more eventful. Dean had wanted to snag another I.V. bag from Dr. Grainger, but there had not been enough time and frankly, he was more worried she would come after him herself than he was about the police. So when the bag Dr. Grainger had administered ran dry, Dean pulled over to remove the port from his brother's arm.

Dean had been expecting unpredictable behavior from Sam, based on what he had said about waking up in the car and knowing he wasn't with him or Dad back at the Arborwood. There was also Sam's reaction the first time he had woken up in the car on the way back to the motel from Rose's. Even with both events considered he did not expect the swinging arm when he carefully removed the tape that secured the port to Sam's wrist.

Sam moaned in his sleep and turned slightly to curl tighter around Dean. The bandage on his little brother's 'good' wrist caught his attention and he gently rubbed it absent-mindedly, while his mind tugged him back to the incident in the Impala.

_Dean carefully removed the second piece of tape from Sam's good wrist, cringing as it tugged on the fine hair on his brother's arm. "Nuh, no!" The shout barely out of Sam's mouth, his unfocused hazel eyes opened and his fist connected solidly with Dean's eye. Again._

"_Son of a bitch," Dean cursed under his breath. "Sam, wake up." The command behind the words clearly rang out in the small space of the Impala. _

_He had a firm, but gentle grasp on Sam's wrist, holding it to the doorframe. For the second time in as many hours his brother's fist had connected with his eye. It was a good thing Sam's punch lacked its normal intensity or he'd be sporting a shiner by morning, well, by later that morning._

_Sam fought against Dean's restraining hand, the I.V. port swinging freely on his wrist now that the tape had been removed. "Shit, Sam," Dean swore. He quickly removed the tubing from his brother's wrist wincing as plastic slid free from skin. "You're bleeding. Hold still."_

"_Dean?" Sam asked. His hazel eyes now more focused landed on Dean's face. _

"_Hold still, Sammy," Dean repeated now that he had his brother's attention. "You're bleeding." He grabbed a couple of napkins out of the glove box and held them to Sam's wrist. "Can you hold this while I get the kit?"_

"_Yeah," Sam replied, ducking his head. Dean did not need to see the pink blush rising up Sam's neck to know that he was embarrassed. _

"_I'll be right back."_

_Dean wasted no time getting the first aid kit out of the trunk and returning to Sam. Sam still held the napkins to his wrist, but his head was pressed against the window and his eyes were closed. _

"_I'm back," Dean announced, trying not to startle his brother. Sam seemed to be aware of what he was doing because a small smile teased his lips. _

"_I didn't go anywhere," Sam replied, opening one eye and raising an eyebrow._

"_Was that a joke?" Dean asked, amusement lacing his tone. "It was. That was a joke."_

_Sam chuckled lightly. "Ow." He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. _

"_You want something for the headache?" Dean asked. He didn't wait for an answer, but handed Sam two acetaminophens. He unscrewed the lid from a bottle of Pedialyte and handed it to Sam who downed the pills in a gulp of grape liquid. He swallowed a couple more gulps of the Pedialyte and handed the bottle back to Dean._

"_Thanks," Sam replied. He looked at Dean appraisingly and Dean ducked his head to avoid further scrutiny by making a show of examining Sam's wrist. _

"_Don't thank me yet, this is going to sting a little." Dean dabbed the site with peroxide and applied a clean bandage before returning the items to the kit and stowing it in the back seat. He then very carefully wound the I.V. tubing around the empty bag and placed it in a paper bag. He would have to dispose of it later._

_When Dean started the engine, Sam asked, "When are we stopping?"_

"_Twenty minutes." Dean eased the Impala back onto the road and blinked sandy eyes trying to focus them._

"_No, I mean for the night," Sam replied. He looked at Dean for a moment before turning away again. _

_Dean could feel the scrutiny of his brother's gaze. "Probably an hour. I'd like to get to Ocala."_

"_You need sleep," Sam stated. He shifted uneasily on the seat and turned to face Dean. "When's the last time you slept?"_

"_Doesn't matter." Dean kept his gaze steadfastly on the road, but he could feel Sam's eyes boring into him. "It doesn't matter, because we're stopping for the night in an hour and I'll sleep then."_

"_Promise?"_

_Dean sighed. "Yeah, Sammy. I promise."_

"_Good."_

Dean had made good on his promise and checked them into a room on the outskirts of Ocala less than an hour later. He had made unbelievably good time on the freeway, even for him. So here they were, plenty of distance between them and the police. He would have preferred to get out of Florida entirely, but he simply could not physically make it that far.

The cheap motel offered very little in the way of amenities, but Dean had spotted the coffee maker on the way in. Coffee, bed, shower and television, it contained all the essentials for an acceptable room even if the beds were lumpy.

He leaned over to pull the gun on the bedside table closer to him now that he had changed beds. He was mindful not to wake his brother who had curled impossibly tight around him. Glancing at the clock, Dean decided to try to catch another hour or so of sleep before he showered so they could leave again. He had a feeling they needed to stay on the move and get out of Florida as soon as possible.

Sam moaned and nestled deeper into Dean's one-armed embrace. Dean closed his eyes. _I wish I knew exactly what happened. _He needed to know what he faced and after the panic attack at the clinic, he didn't want to take any more chances. With a sickening dread, Dean realized it would probably be easier for his little brother to feel safe if he knew Rose was gone but he was not looking forward to that discussion. He may not have shot the bullet that killed Rose, but he was responsible for her death.

Dean leaned over again and snagged the remote from its resting place on the bedside table. He flicked on the television and turned down the volume. Blue light bathed the room in comfortable familiarity. He blinked to clear his vision and winced as the skin pulled tight over his eye. _Ouch. _He may yet have something to show for Sam's accuracy.

The droning television had nearly lulled Dean back to sleep when Sam jerked his head backwards, catching him in the sternum. Dean involuntarily expelled a puff of air. "Sam?" he croaked. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Sorry about that." He rolled away from Dean and curled up facing the wall.

"Oh, no you don't," Dean stated, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "If you're going to crack my chest open with your head, you at least have to tell me why."

"It's nothing, Dean." Sam's voice sounded more like Sam than it had since Dean had found him. There was a touch of annoyance in his brother's words and it actually made Dean smile.

"Really? Because my ribs say otherwise." Sarcasm dripped from each word. Dean modified his voice, softened it and turned it into the big brother tone that Sam responded to. "Talk to me, Sammy."

Sam flipped back over to his other side and faced Dean. "You're pretty pushy for a guy who hasn't even told me how he got me away from Rose. The last thing I remember is…" Sam's angry tirade faded and he crinkled his brow in apparent confusion. "At least the last thing I think I remember was Rose coming home after I'd finally managed to get out of the handcuffs." Sam paused, his gaze dropped along with his voice. "She was so angry."

"What did she do?" Dean asked softly. Maybe if he pushed Sam while he relived the event in his mind, he would share what happened.

"I tried to run past her," Sam replied with a small huff of bitter amusement at the memory. "I think she tripped me because I remember hitting my head pretty hard."

When Sam did not continue, Dean gently prodded him. "Anything else?"

Sam lifted his gaze to meet his and Dean could see a parade of emotions march past the hazel windows. "Just more of the Xanax. Two this time and I thought…" Dean waited. He could wait Sam out any day. "I thought I heard your voice. I wanted it to be you so badly that I thought maybe I was dreaming you were there again."

With that telling statement Sam fell silent. Dean mulled over his brother's words, tossing them around and trying to reconcile them with what he knew. "Sam, what did she say to you?" he asked, finally. He had to know what he was up against before Dad arrived. There was little to no chance that Sam would share anything besides the basic facts with their dad.

"What did she say to you?" Sam countered, his voice quavering almost imperceptibly.

"I asked you first." Dean's lips curled in amusement.

"Nice, Dean, that's mature," Sam shot back. He scooted up in the bed until he mirrored Dean's position: back against the wall, legs stretched out and shoulders touching.

"So, spill," Dean urged. He snagged the remote and turned off the television. The last thing they needed was further distractions.

Sam sighed deeply, but did not answer. He seemed to be searching for the right words to say, but instead, his shoulders drooped. "Nothing really."

"Yeah, I'm buying that," Dean replied. He nudged Sam with his shoulder. "Good thing for you that I was born yesterday or I probably wouldn't have bought the load of bullshit your shoveling."

The corners of Sam's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "That makes me the oldest, doesn't it?"

"Nice try," Dean said. He fell quiet, once more playing the waiting game with his little brother. After a few minutes of heavy silence he knocked Sam's foot with his own to remind him he was waiting.

"Seriously, Dean," Sam said quietly, suddenly finding his hands very interesting. "Nothing at first, in fact, hardly ever. I…she…" Sam's voice cracked and he swallowed hard. It became apparent after several beats of heavy silence that Sam had no intention of continuing.

"Come on, Sam," Dean pushed. "These nightmares, the not sleeping, you can't keep it up much longer." Sam stole a glance at his brother out of the corner of his eye, but remained resolutely silent. "Talk to me, Sammy," he repeated.

Sam glanced at Dean again and took a deep breath. When he resumed talking, his tone was flat. "She kept me handcuffed in the basement with the light off. I don't know if she was afraid someone would see the light on or if she had some other motivation, but she never turned it on and at first, she hardly talked to me."

Dean silently thrummed his fingers on outside of his thigh out of Sam's sight. His agitation grew, but he did not want it to stop Sam from talking. "What else?"

"Dean…"

"Sammy, Dad's going to be here a few hours and he's going to want to know what happened. Now there's two ways we can do that. You can fill him in or I can." Dean knew his argument was neither fair to Dad or to Sam, but he also knew it would get results and sometimes that is what mattered.

Sam huffed in protest and turned his head away to stare at the wall with his jaw set. "She started forcing me to take the pills the first night," Sam stated tightly, he turned his attention back to Dean. "I made her angry when I said you would find me."

"I bet," Dean stated. Sam quirked his lips, but he did not respond otherwise. Dean continued thrumming his leg in earnest. He wished for a way to force his recently turned reticent brother to tell him everything. By the way Sam's eyes darted in his head Dean knew he was thinking hard about something. He took a deep breath to cleanse his next words of frustration and asked, "What's going on in that oversized brain of yours, Sammy?"

Sam crinkled his brow and dropped his gaze. "I don't know why I never tried to make myself sick. I guess because they knocked me out so fast or…" his voice trailed off and when he resumed he spoke so low, Dean had to lean closer to hear him. "It was because she got so angry the time I tried to fake that I'd swallowed them. I didn't know what she'd do and I was afraid."

Dean stopped thrumming his fingers. "Sam?" He waited until Sam once again glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and he knew he had his attention. He needed to ask the question. "Are you still afraid?"

Sam looked up from his hands and at Dean. Shame and embarrassment clearly visible in the early morning light through thin motel curtains. "No?"

"Sam," Dean started, his voice firm.

"No," Sam replied, his voice steady, the rest of what he said lost in a mumble.

"What'd you say?" Dean asked.

"Not when you're here," Sam admitted the words sounding forced.

Dean did not know how to feel about that. A part of him felt a surge of warmth at his brother's words. In spite of everything that had happened, Sam still trusted him to keep him safe. On the other hand, Sam needed to feel independent of him to regain his confidence. "I'm sure time will help," Dean replied, immediately kicking himself as the empty platitude left his lips.

Sam raised an eyebrow and grinned, the melancholy spell broken. "Had to search hard for that one, did you?"

"Shut up," Dean growled, knocking Sam's shoulder again with his own.

"Make up your mind, Dean," Sam teased. "Talk to me, Sammy. Shut up, Sammy. It's no wonder I don't know how you really feel."

The grin dropped from Dean's face. "Fair is fair," he said. "One time offer. One question."

"Really?" Sam asked. The look of complete incredulousness on Sam's face caused Dean to chuckle.

"Offer's going, going…"

"Do you think Rose will try to find us?" Sam asked quickly.

The fear emanating from his little brother was palpable and he gave Sam the words he needed to hear, at least as much as he needed to hear. "No," Dean replied, confidently. Sam's swimming hazel eyes spurred him on. "No, Sammy, I'm don't. She won't be coming after you. She won't be trying to find us. It's over."

Relief flooded Sam's features and he nodded. Dean breathed his own sigh of relief. His word, his belief was still enough for his little brother. He knew those days were further and farther between, that Sam's insatiable desire to know made him question everything and everyone.

He tried not to take it personally, but sometimes it felt as if his brother's faith in him had wavered as he grew older. It honestly felt incredibly good to know that when push came to shove Sam trusted him above all else with or without proof.

"Why don't you get some more sleep?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked sluggishly. "That's all I've done," he replied with a small yawn. "I don't want to sleep anymore. You sleep."

"Crackers and juice it is," Dean announced and Sam grinned.

The lock on the door clicked several times and the doorknob slowly turned. Dean felt Sam tense next to him and he snatched the gun from the bedside table, released the safety and aimed. The door slowly opened and Dean stared into the face of his father.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

John stood stock still in the doorway for two very long seconds. Two long seconds where he honestly thought Dean might shoot him until recognition set in. The hard set of his jaw, the steady grip on the gun and the absolute conviction in his eyes told John that Dean would not have hesitated had something actually been a threat. He had never seen that look displayed with complete certainty on Dean's face before and he had a sinking suspicion that he had missed something even more important than he originally thought this week.

He waited until Dean clicked back on the safety and set the gun down to enter the room. "Boys," he said.

"Dad," Dean responded, a smile lighting his face.

_He looks so young, _John thought, _too young to be burdened with so much responsibility. _

He strode over to the rumpled bed next to his sons and leaned forward, scrubbing a hand through his beard. He noticed that Dean still had his body positioned to block Sam from the doorway in an effort to stand between his brother and potential danger. While he applauded the sentiment, he would have to speak to Dean about telegraphing his weakness later. Now was simply not the time.

When he looked up at his sons, the guarded look on Dean's face and the look of apprehension on Sam's was almost his undoing. He had placed this wall between him and his sons and he had done it intentionally. His relationship with Dean had not suffered from his stance because Dean understood, had understood, for nearly thirteen years now. Until twenty hours ago that is, when he had lashed out at the one person that knew the importance of keeping the family safe, maybe even more than he did.

Sam, however, was another story. Sheltered from the truth longer than his brother, and partially at Dean's insistence, he had only known the true evil of the world for less than six years. Unlike his brother, Sam viewed the world as a place to live in and protect, not protect so others might live in it. It was a subtle distinction, but an important one. And one John feared may ultimately drive a wedge between them if he couldn't find a way to convince Sam of the truth.

Both his sons needed to be smart and strong to survive in the world John chose to live. He could not bear the thought of anything happening to his sons and that meant sometimes, he couldn't be the one to comfort his boys. He had to be the one that showed them how to buck up and weather the storm. _But_ _God help me, all I want to do is hold them both and not let go. _

Movement from the other bed caught his eye as Sam staggered towards the bathroom. Sam's gangly appearance gave him pause. _Has he actually grown taller in a week?_ The sweatpants he wore were obviously Dean's judging by the way they hung off his youngest son. Yet before he disappeared behind the bathroom door, John could tell that Sam had lost weight.

Dean watched his brother until he disappeared behind the door before turning his attention to John. "He needs to try to eat something," Dean stated apropos of nothing. He dragged a hand through his hair and down his face. "And, maybe you can give him a little bit of time before you ask too many questions?"

"I won't push him for now," John reassured him. Dean nodded and his features visibly relaxed. "What about you?"

"You want me to push him?" Dean asked. The pitch of his voice indicated perfectly how he felt about that idea.

John sighed. "No, how are you doing?"

Dean raised his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm fine, Dad."

"You look like shit," John stated.

"Look in a mirror lately?" Dean asked, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

"Trying to avoid it." John kicked off his boots and wiggled his toes. Dean was offering him forgiveness and he snagged it. "Smelled like shit too until Singer pointed it out. Had it all over my shirt." John rubbed his forehead at the thought of Bobby. He should try to mend that fence eventually, but right now his focus was on his boys.

Dean laughed. "Do I even want to know?"

"No," John replied with a small laugh of his own.

The shower started and Dean leapt off the bed and pounded on the bathroom door. "Five minutes, Sammy."

John raised an eyebrow at Dean's use of Sam's old nickname. They rarely used it anymore, at Sam's insistence, and the resurgence of it garnered his attention. It could not be a good sign. Sam's response was muffled by the door, but Dean's response was to bang on the door again.

"I mean it, Sammy, five minutes." Dean turned away from the door, headed straight for his jeans which were flung over a chair and slipped them on. "He really needs to eat. I should go pick up something."

"Sounds like a plan," John agreed. "But I want to talk to you when you get back." He watched as insecurity made a brief appearance on Dean's face before his jaw stiffened and his eyes carefully concealed his feelings. _Damn, but Dean is getting good at that. _"I just want to catch up on what I missed." _I don't even think that's possible, but I'd like to try._

"Yes, sir." Dean walked over to the table between the beds and picked up a small bottle. "He needs to take one of these when he gets out of the shower."

"I'll make sure he does." John held out his hand and Dean placed the bottle in his palm.

Dean forced his feet into still laced boots. "I'll be back in ten minutes. He shouldn't stay in there too long. I don't know how steady he is on his feet." Dean looked over his shoulder at the bathroom door.

"Dean," John said.

Dean did not tear his attention away from the door. "Yeah?"

"Dean!" John tried again.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, this time turning to face him.

"I got this one," John assured him. "Go."

He noticed the flicker of hesitation on Dean's face followed promptly by relief as the pinched edges around his eyes relaxed slightly. "Thanks, Dad."

John affectionately clapped Dean on the shoulder on his way by. "No hurry, son. Get what we need."

Dean nodded and continued out the door. John twisted to lean back against the headboard. He could keep an eye on both the bathroom door and the motel room door from his current vantage point. The Impala's engine roared to life and he drew back the curtain to watch as Dean tore out of the parking lot as if the hounds of hell were on his tail. It appeared Dean still felt he needed to hurry.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam sat in the bottom of the shower, too tired to stand any longer, and let the water cascade over him. It felt good to relax under the warm spray and it allowed him to avoid facing his father for a few precious moments longer. He wanted his dad here. He and Dean would both be safe now that Dad was here. The crux of the problem being he did not want to appear as if he _needed_ Dad here and he did.

"Sam?" the muffled voice of his father sounded through the door.

"Yeah?" He was amazed at how steady his voice sounded. He felt anything but steady. Tired, scared, tired of being tired and scared. Sam huffed at the last thought. He felt spectacularly pathetic at the moment.

"I'm stepping out to the truck to grab my duffel and weapons bag."

_Why is he giving me a play by play? _He realized with a sickening dread that Dean had probably filled him in as promised. _And now he thinks he has to coddle me, because I screwed up and proved I can't take care of myself for five minutes. _"Yes, sir." He'd striven for dispassionate, but it sounded more like sarcasm. He hoped the door and the shower had rendered the tone indiscernible.

"I thought you should know." No such luck. Dad's pointed comment told Sam his father had picked up on the sardonic notes.

"Thanks." Better. That sounded sincere. It must have satisfied his father because he heard the door slam over the rushing water. Sam rested his head on his knees and let the water gently massage his aching back.

He didn't remember hurting his back and that bothered him. The fact that he had injuries he could not remember getting only proved how out of it he had been at Rose's and he wondered what else he couldn't remember. Absently, he fingered the stitches on his arm. Another injury he could not place, but the handiwork was undeniable. Dean had stitched his arm and wrist.

He briefly considered the fact he should not be getting the stitches wet, but the water felt too good to care much about it. He leaned his head back and allowed the water to run freely through his hair and down his face easing the throbbing, ever-present headache. The cut on his forehead stung and he tilted his head back and settled it on his knees.

Thoughts of his conversation with Dean filtered through his mind and Sam cursed himself. He had seen it again when he had asked Dean about Rose. The smallest, fleeting look that signaled Dean was hiding something important from him. He should not have asked the question that plagued him most. He should have simply trusted his big brother would keep him safe. His question should have been, 'What are you hiding from me?'

He doubted he would have received a straight answer, but calling Dean out on it would have precipitated a reaction from his brother, one that might have told him what he needed to know. Opportunity lost, Sam could now only guess at what Dean kept carefully hidden behind shuttered eyes.

His first guess was Rose. Dean still had not explained how he had managed to free him from her. Certainly Dean had not been able to charm her into releasing him. All Rose had wanted, all she had talked about, was his big brother. Unless Dean had offered to stay behind she never would have agreed to just let Sam go.

The fact also remained that Dean was absolutely certain she would not follow them. He had not hesitated, had not looked away, had not done the, as Dr. Grainger put it, 'head tilt, half smile thing.' No, Dean believed what he said about Rose which meant he knew it was over. How Dean could know that was the missing piece.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when the bathroom door banged open and the curtain slid back revealing a pale-faced, completely panic-stricken Dean. "What the hell, Dean?" he snapped, curling his knees tighter to his chest self-consciously. "At least hand me a towel."

The schizophrenic gerbil running through Dean's mind jumped off the cage wheel and Sam could literally see his brother slam back into focus. The water shut off and a towel landed on his shoulders. Dean turned away and Sam covered himself. He tried to stand, but his shaky legs and the wet shower tiles conspired against him.

He ran a hand through his hair in utter frustration and nearly sobbed. If he could not even take a shower unassisted how could he prove to either of the people whose opinion mattered most to him that he was fine, that he was capable, that he was: Winchester strong?

Dean had obviously been affected by this whole thing too and Sam did not see him falling to pieces. Sometimes that was what Sam admired most about his brother. Sure, Dean could charm almost anyone into doing anything. Sure he kicked ass in hand to hand and hunting and he could fire almost any weapon their father handed him.

However, while Dean seemed motivated by his emotions, the ones that caused him to rush headlong into danger heedless of his own safety or the ones that propelled Dean into action when everyone else gave up, he never seemed ruled by them. Sam secretly wondered if it was slowly and painfully killing his brother to keep everything so tightly reigned inside.

"Sammy, you need some help?" The question seemed almost sheepish and whether it was due to his embarrassment at his over reaction or his concern over Sam's possible state, Sam couldn't tell.

"No, I got it." Sam risked raising his head to look at his brother. Dean's back was still to him. He may be able to pull this off. "A little privacy though?"

"You're sure?" Dean asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Sam replied, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "The water felt so good I didn't want to get out." He purposefully avoided mentioning Dean barging in like a half-crazed lunatic. He wondered what had caused Dean to behave that way, but he knew he would probably never find out.

"I'm going to grab you some clean clothes," Dean stated. He started towards the door which now hung slightly off kilter. "You're good?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm good," Sam replied. He shivered from the cool air on his wet skin.

"Be right back," Dean stated exiting the bathroom and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

Slowly and carefully, Sam stood up and staggered to the commode where he essentially fell down gracelessly. He rested one arm on the sink and laid his head on it. The simple act of showering had left him energy deficient.

Moments later Dean reappeared with boxers and a t-shirt. He stood in front of Sam with a silent offer of help communicated by a raised eyebrow. Sam shook his head in the negative. He could do this one thing to prove he wasn't completely incapable of taking care of himself.

"I'll leave them right here," Dean stated. He set the clothes down on the sink and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Rivulets of water ran down his back from wet hair. Sam toweled off his hair and pulled on his t-shirt, the cotton sticking to wet skin. He managed the boxers with little difficulty and carefully exited the bathroom.

Dean and Dad both looked over at him and stopped talking when he walked into the room. _Oh no, that wasn't obvious,_ he thought.He started for the bed, but before he could take two steps Dean was at his elbow guiding him to the table. "Eat first, okay?"

Sam flopped into the chair and managed not to wince when the action jarred his head causing pain to spark behind his eyes. "I don't know, Dean," he said. "Not sure I can." He sniffed the yellow broth and decided it was definitely chicken. His stomach flipped and he swallowed convulsively.

"You need to eat, son," John stated. Sam had not even noticed his dad moving from the bed towards the table. "After we eat, we'll head out to Pastor Jim's. I think we could all use a little down time."

Sam felt his father's hand land gently on his shoulder and give it a little squeeze. He looked up at his dad and saw something in his father's eyes he rarely did, fear - fear that was quickly replaced by concern and caring. "We don't have to because of me," he argued. "I'll be fine."

"We have to go because we all need a break," John stated firmly, his gaze torn between Sam and Dean. "All of us."

"Yes, sir," both boys said simultaneously.

John ruffled Sam's hair and smiled; a rare gift to both his sons. As quickly as it appeared the smile left his face and thunderous storm clouds materialized in his eyes. Dad crouched down in front of him and Sam could feel heat rising in his cheeks at the scrutiny. He returned his father's gaze unflinchingly.

"Are you okay?" John asked, his eyes resting on Sam's.

"Yes, sir," Sam replied, pleased with the strong response.

An unreadable look passed over his dad's face before he pulled Sam into a one-armed embrace. "I'm sorry I wasn't here…for both you boys," he said quietly, his breath in Sam's hair.

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself from returning the embrace, from clutching his father's shirt with his good fist and allowing himself to draw strength from his dad. At least no tears fell and Sam gratefully held on until he felt his dad draw back.

"Now eat," John barked, the fleeting moment of tenderness gone, although a smile remained.

"Yes, sir," came the twin responses.

Dean took a seat across from Sam, tossed him a grin and enthusiastically attacked his burger. Sam shook his head. He wasn't sure if the grinning meant Dean was happy Dad was back, that Sam seemed okay or just that he had food in front of him. By the way his face seemed in danger of cracking in two he assumed it was a combination of all three.

He slowly sipped the chicken broth, enjoying the warm liquid on his dry throat. Dean pointed at the pill sitting next to Sam's juice. The large, white pill was obviously an antibiotic and Sam swallowed it without a fuss. Thirty minutes later, Sam had barely eaten half his soup while Dean was busy sucking the last of the cheese off his burger wrapper.

A knock at the door catapulted both his brother and his father into immediate action. Dean silently rose from his chair and pulled a gun out of his waistband. Flicking off the safety he aimed the weapon towards the door.

John peered through the peephole and gestured at Dean to stow his weapon. Dean obeyed instantly and Sam threw his brother a quizzical look. Dean shrugged his shoulders and they both listened as their dad addressed whoever was on the other side of the door.

"Good morning, what can I do for you officers?"

Sam cocked his head and furrowed his brow, but Dean steadfastly ignored him. That's when he knew: they were in deep shit.

_TBC_

…………………………………….…………………..**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………

AN: I'm sorry this took so long to get out. It is our busiest season at work and I had no intention of being in the middle of a story this time of year.

I'll try my best to get out the remaining chapter(s) faster. Thanks for hanging in there with me!


	14. Our Own Kind of Love

**Envy**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Theirs. Now if only they'd lend 'em to me for a day…that'd be swell.

**Beta'd: **By the irreplaceable Wysawyg. Seriously, girl, you really are the best.

_I played after she beta'd, so as usual any and all remaining errors are mine and mine alone!_

**Thanks: **To everyone who has been reading! Thanks also to the anonymous reviewers I cannot thank personally. I appreciate the feedback.

_A big thank you to Muffy Morrigan for helping me set the angst o' meter at a higher level for one section and getting me back on the right track._

**Time Line: **June, 1998. Dean is nineteen. Sam recently turned fifteen.

**AN: **I am sorry this last chapter was so long in coming. I can only offer up RL as the reason and my humblest apologies.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_A knock at the door catapulted both his brother and his father into immediate action. Dean silently rose from his chair and pulled a gun out of his waistband. Flicking off the safety he aimed the weapon towards the door._

_John peered through the peephole and gestured at Dean stow his weapon. Dean obeyed instantly and Sam threw his brother a quizzical look. Dean shrugged his shoulders and they both listened as their dad addressed whoever was on the other side of the door._

"_Good morning, what can I do for you officers?"_

_Sam cocked his head and furrowed his brow, but Dean steadfastly ignored him. That's when he knew: they were in deep shit._

……………………………**People Have Only Their Own Kind of Love to Give**……………………………

Dean stood frozen in shock, waiting to hear what the police had to say. Maybe his luck was turning and all they wanted to do was ask about a suspicious person in the area or ticket them for a broken taillight. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Dean knew he could not be that lucky. They were here about Rose.

That thought shot Dean into motion. He did not want Sam to know what had happened in the basement. He pushed past his brother who was edging towards the door. Placing a hand on Sam's chest he gently pushed him back until his knees hit the chair and he was forced to sit. "Wait here, Sammy," he commanded before spinning on his heel and heading for the door. He tossed a grin over his shoulder. "Besides, you're not even dressed, genius."

"But, Dean…" Sam protested, his face reddening.

"Wait here," Dean barked. He waited until Sam nodded in agreement and turned back to the door. He stood listening at the door to his father speaking to the police.

"I'm Detective Hansen and this is my partner Detective Lopez. We need to speak to Sam and Dean Winchester." The older police officer smiled reassuringly, but Dean could tell it wasn't genuine.

"Why do you want to speak to my boys?" John asked gruffly. His father shifted until his body blocked most of Dean's view out the door. He frowned knowing his father had done it intentionally.

"Mr. Winchester," Detective Lopez said, undeterred by John's tone. "We suspect your sons are witnesses in a case we're investigating."

"That so?" John asked. "Mind telling me exactly what you think my sons witnessed?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the case with you, Mr. Winchester," Lopez rebutted.

"You're not talking to my sons unless you do," John growled. "I'm not prepared to subject them to questioning unnecessarily."

"You don't really have a choice here," Martin shot back. "Dean is nineteen. He's legally an adult. That means we can question him without his father present."

"And Sam is fifteen," John stated in a low voice. "And they're both my sons. Now tell me what you suspect them of or get the hell out of here."

"Now listen, Winchester," Lopez snarled, puffing his chest and stepping closer to John. "You…"

Dean took a step backwards knowing a confrontation was brewing between his dad and Detective Lopez. He felt a little sorry for Lopez. He didn't stand a chance. He glanced back to check on his brother and furiously waved at Sam to sit back down. Sam crossed his arms and flopped back into the chair with a huff.

"Easy, kid," Detective Hansen said. He tugged on his partner's arm and pulled him away from John. He spun on his heel and addressed John. "Look, all we really want to do is talk to your boys. There was a suicide in Tampa, a Rose Chastain, and we think your boys may have been there when it happened."

"Check my logic, detectives," John replied, his voice dangerously smooth and calm. "You want to question my sons about a woman you _know_ committed suicide because they _may _have seen something? I don't see a case here."

Dean shifted in the doorway trying to see past his father's hulking form. He glanced back at his little brother. Sam's pensive demeanor convinced Dean he needed to take action before the police lost patience with his father. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him. "I'll talk to you, but you can't talk to Sammy," Dean said.

"Dean, get back inside," John barked, even as he moved closer to the police officers to stand between Hansen and his son. "That's an order."

Dean gritted his teeth and debated his father's command. "Dad…"

"Now, Dean." His dad's tone left no room for argument.

"Yes, sir," Dean acknowledged before spinning on his heel to re-enter the room. He saw movement out of his peripheral vision and twisted slightly to avoid Lopez when he made a grab for his arm. Before he could turn completely around to face the detective, his father was in between them.

"I wouldn't," John cautioned, moving forward to urge Lopez to step back.

"Are you threatening me?" Lopez asked, once again turning to bear on the oldest Winchester.

"Damn it, Martin," Marc chastised. "When did you get so hot-headed? You need to take a step back and relax. If you can't do that, go sit in the car."

"What?" Martin's boyish features plainly conveying his disdain of Hansen's proposal.

"You heard me," Detective Hansen stated. "Now step back."

"Marc," Lopez protested, pulling out a set of handcuffs. "We have every right to arrest him on obstruction of justice."

"No!" Sam shouted from the doorway.

Dean spun on his heel to face his brother. At least he had the sense of mind to pull on a pair of jeans. They hung low on his brother's slight frame, the extra denim flopping over his bare feet. "Sammy, I told you to wait inside."

"I'm not three," Sam snapped. "I want to know what's going on. Why would they want to arrest Dad?"

"Sam, your brother is right, wait inside," John ordered, from over Dean's shoulder.

"But, Dad," Sam started. He stepped farther outside the door and Dean moved to intervene.

"Sam, you need to go inside. I'll take care of this," Dean said. He pushed Sam backwards until his feet were on the inside of the threshold.

"Dean, I need to know. Why are the police here? Is Dad going to jail? What's going on?" Sam braced himself with both hands on the frame of the door and shot the questions at Dean fast and furious. Dean struggled to formulate an answer that would appease his brother.

"Dad's not going to jail," Dean reassured him. Sam's raised eyebrows conveyed his disbelief. "Listen, they're here for me."

"You?!" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, why?"

Dean fixed Sam with a hard stare. "It doesn't matter, Sam. I want you to wait here. Dad and I will figure this out."

Sam's jaw muscles twitched and he moved one hand from the doorframe to tap it on his thigh in agitation. "No," he said, finally, his voice calm. He eyed the handcuffs in Lopez's hands warily. "No, I'm old enough to know what's going on with you…and Dad."

Dean's mouth opened to protest, but Dad beat him to the punch. "Sam, inside. Dean, inside." John turned to face the two police officers. "Wait here. I'm gonna talk to my boys."

Martin moved to intercept before Marc grabbed his arm to hold him back. "That's sounds fair enough, thank you. We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Winchester."

"Don't thank me yet," John snapped. "I'm talking to my sons first and then I may give you five minutes to talk to Dean. If I don't like your partner's attitude more than I have so far, it'll be even less."

"Understood, sir," Marc replied, with a nod.

Dean stepped back into the room right behind his brother, but he still heard Lopez's mumbling protest about 'Who Mr. Winchester thought he was'. He chuckled to himself. If those cops had any idea who they were dealing with, they would give his dad a wide berth. No one argued with his father and walked away a winner.

He scanned the room quickly for anything that should not be in view of the police and noticed Sam doing the same. Sam picked up the canister of salt and tossed it into an open duffel bag. Dean retrieved the knife from under his pillow and the gun from his waistband and tucked them in by the salt before zipping up the bag.

Sam sat down heavily on the bed, exhaustion oozing from every pore. Dean took a seat next to his brother and offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Sam returned Dean's smile with a weak one of his own before his eyes focused on their father, apprehension clearly visible in the hazel depths.

"It'll be okay, Sam," Dean said quietly. "Just tell Dad what happened."

"I'm not worried about talking to Dad," Sam said, his voice rising. "I'm worried about you talking to the police, Dean. Why do they want to talk to you?"

Dean hesitated and their father rescued him. "Never mind that right now," he interrupted taking a seat across from the boys. "Short version. What happened?"

"I…I screwed up, Dad," Sam confessed, his eyes filling with shame. "I thought Dean forgot his keys and I opened the door without checking."

"Sam, we can assign blame later. I'm sure there's enough to go around," John stated, "And most if it will land firmly on my shoulders. Now, just tell me what happened."

Sam nodded and continued speaking in a subdued voice. "I think Rose used a Taser on me and handcuffed me in her basement. She, uh…" Sam paused and took a shaky breath. Dean knew his brother did not want to confess the next part to their dad and he prepared to jump in if Sam did not continue. "She forced me to take Xanax and I was pretty out of it. I think I remember hearing Dean there, but that's it until I woke up in the Impala."

Dean could feel his father's intense gaze on him and Dean knew he was looking for affirmation. He looked from Sam to his dad and nodded. "Dean's right, son," John stated. "There's not much you can offer the police. Stay here."

"But, Dad…" Sam protested. His eyes begged Dad to reconsider.

"I'm not asking, Sam," John replied firmly. He stood up and tapped Dean on the shoulder in an unspoken command to follow. He turned slightly and pointed a finger at Sam. "Wait here."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied sullenly. He stood up and moved to the bed by the window.

Dean shook his head. Sam could obey the letter of the law if not the spirit. He followed his dad out the door and shut the door firmly behind him. He hung back slightly allowing his father to lead. Talking to the police was something they generally avoided. 'We do what we do and we shut up about it,' was the family mantra.

"Sam can verify Rose kidnapped him and held him against his will at her house if you need him to, but that's all," John stated by way of greeting. "What other questions do you have?"

"Why do you think she took Sam?" Martin asked, leading Dean down the path he wanted him to follow.

"Because she was crazy," Dean replied, flippantly. He shifted his weight so he was no longer partially hidden behind his father. "We were moving and she wanted me to stay in town with her. Somehow, taking Sam made sense to her."

"Did you know Rose abducted Sam?" Marc asked, his blue eyes conveyed concern, but his body language screamed forced behavior. He attempted to appear concerned and friendly, but the set of his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw told Dean he anticipated trouble, probably between his partner and John.

"No. I didn't figure it out until yesterday morning," Dean replied, his words weighted by guilt. He should have figured it out sooner.

"And you went to her house armed, intent on getting your brother back?" Martin interjected. The head tilt and tightening of his lips suggested he knew Dean had gone there intending to find trouble.

"Damn right I did," Dean snapped, his green eyes flashing. He squared his shoulders and moved a step closer to Detective Lopez.

"Dean, that's enough," John interceded. "Anything else, detectives? You did say this was a suicide."

"Was it, Dean?" Marc asked, from his left side. "Did Rose kill herself?"

"You're obviously a couple of smart guys," Dean replied, crossing his arms in front of him. "You tell me."

Martin's brown eyes softened and his smile became more genuine. Dean knew Lopez was working hard at looking approachable and understanding. "I think Rose sat on that mattress in her basement and held Sam in front of her as a human shield. We found Xanax in the basement. Did she use that to keep Sam under control?"

Dean felt the muscles knot in his jaw and he clenched his fists. The image the detective painted was too close to his memory of reality. "Good guess."

"She threatened Sam, didn't she? She had a gun and she threatened to shoot your little brother," Martin theorized. "Is that why you shot her?"

Dean remained silent until his father placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Just tell them, Dean."

"I told her that the moment she involved Sam she and I could never be. She apologized to me and swung the gun from me towards Sam. I didn't know if she was planning to shoot Sam or herself, but I wasn't taking any chances. I swear, I only winged her." He had killed her though, by not being fast enough to stop her. He could live with being responsible for Rose's death unlike if anything had happened to his little brother.

The shrill ring of Detective Hansen's phone interrupted Dean's explanation. Martin held up a finger in a universal gesture to wait and stepped away from the group. "Detective Hansen," he spoke into the phone.

An angry voice from the other side of the line rang out so loudly that Dean could hear most of the words. _"Where are you and Lopez?"_

"Ocala, Captain," Marc replied, turning away from the Winchesters and his partner. It did not block the voice from booming loud enough to hear.

"_Aren't you investigating that suicide? Why would you be all the way in Ocala?"_

"We're ascertaining the validity of that theory," Hansen stated. "We may have a witness to the event."

The Captain's next words shot from the phone with enough intensity to vibrate Dean's eardrums and he was standing five feet behind Detective Hansen. _"Don't try any of that bullshit with me, Hansen. I'd expect this kind of foolish crap from Lopez, but you – you know better. This is a cut and dry case, there's no reason for you to be traipsing off across the state to satisfy your curiosity."_

"Sorry, Captain," Marc replied. He spun back around to give Martin a look of, 'We are in so much trouble.' Dean smirked, recognizing the look as the same one he had shot his little brother on more than one occasion.

"_For the record, if you men don't have enough work to do investigating unsolved cases with families waiting for answers, I can add a couple more to your plate."_

"That won't be necessary, sir," Marc replied. "We'll be back to the station within three and a half hours."

"_See to it." _

"Yes, sir." Marc snapped his cell phone closed and turned to address John. "It appears Detective Lopez and I have been called back to Tampa. If we have any additional questions, what is a good number to reach you?"

"The boys don't have phones," John replied. To Dean's practiced eye the twitch of his father's lips demonstrated barely constrained amusement. "You'll have to call me at 785-555-3113."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but did not contradict his father. He had learned over the years, some of it from personal experience, some from watching his brother that while that path occasionally led to answers it almost never led to happiness.

"Very good, Mr. Winchester," Hansen replied with a head nod. "We'll be in touch. Let's go, Martin." He waved his arm at the other detective to usher him towards the car.

"I don't think we're done here," Martin protested falling into step behind Marc.

"You heard the Captain," Marc hissed in a hushed voice. "We're done here alright and if you don't want to be done entirely you'll get your backside into the car now."

"It can't be that bad," Martin insisted. "We'll just stay here and…"

"Do you remember Detective Conners?" Marc asked, squinting against the sun that had crested over the top of the motel.

"Yeah, older guy, worked in the department for years," Martin replied. "Whatever happened to him anyway?"

"He pissed off the Captain," Martin stated. "Bucked him on a major call in front of the district attorney."

"So?" Lopez questioned. "Just because he's the Captain doesn't mean he's always right."

"Nope, but it does mean he's the guy in charge. Conners is still working down in evidence lock up. He's got two more weeks until Michaels gets back from medical leave." Martin tapped a forefinger to his head. "Think about it."

Martin turned to the Winchesters and remarked, "We're done here. We'll call if we have any additional questions."

"You do that," John replied, humor laced his tone. They stood and waited until the police officers climbed back into a nondescript, silver sedan and drove away. John turned to face Dean and asked. "Son, you want to tell me about Rose?"

Dean squirmed. He fidgeted and shifted his weight from one foot to the other before scrubbing a hand through his hair and down his face.

"You might want to pick up the pace, kiddo, before your brother gets impatient and comes outside despite what I told him."

Dean met his father's gaze and saw only concern. The small attempt at humor caused Dean's lips to quirk slightly, but the look of apprehension never left his eyes. "Rose is…was…the waitress at the Iron Skillet. We went out a couple of times."

"How serious were you?" John asked.

"Not at all really, at least I didn't think so," Dean replied. "I mean, we ah, well…"

"You slept with her," John stated. He scrubbed a hand through his beard and waited for Dean to answer.

Dean felt heat rising up the back of his neck. It was one thing to torment Sammy with his relationships, it was quite another to discuss them with his father. "Yeah," he replied. "But I told her it was nothing serious and that I'd be moving."

John shook his head and walked a few feet away before turning back around to face Dean. "Son, I want you to understand I'm not blaming you. Rose was obviously a sick young woman. All that being said, store this in your head for future reference," he stated. He ruffled Dean's short hair to emphasize his point. "Nearly all women view sex as a commitment or connection of some kind. You're going to have to learn when it's time for you to leave - how to leave them happy."

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he replied. He dipped his head unable to look at his father directly. Not only was the guilt over Rose and Sam a heavy weight, but this discussion had gone from uncomfortable to practically unbearable.

"What happened, Dean? I need to know," John said, his rough voice softening. "What did she do?"

Dean's eyes flicked to the motel window. He could not see Sam with the sun shining from that direction, but he knew his little brother would not have left his post by the window. He glanced at his father before returning his gaze to a spot on the ground. "I guess it started before you even left. She was putting something in Sam's food to make him sick."

"What? Why?" John asked, his hands tightening into fists.

"I don't understand why," Dean replied. "I think to get my attention or to be able to help me take care of Sam and gain points with me, I don't know. Dad, she really seemed okay. She was always concerned about Sam. When Sam went missing she offered to help look. She brought me coffee. I…I never suspected her at all."

"It's okay, Dean," John reassured him, once more squeezing his shoulder briefly. "People can be harder to understand than the supernatural. The important thing is you found your brother before she hurt him."

Dean crossed his arms in front of his chest and glanced up at his father again. "That's not really true. I told you, Dad, she drugged him, kept him chained in the dark and played mind games with him." _Played mind games with me. _"He's had a couple of panic attacks and nightmares bad enough he wakes up swinging…" His voice trailed off and he looked up at his father again. "He doesn't remember most of it and that's only going to make it that much harder, Dad."

John nodded in understanding. "I can see that. Both of you need a little time. That's why we're going to Jim's. He's agreed to let you stay there this summer. We'll all stay there for a week and then I'm leaving to meet up with Caleb in Colorado. You and Sam will stay and help Jim with some repairs around the farm."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Are you grounding me from hunting? I don't need a break, Dad."

John sighed, opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "I think Sam is going to need you there and whether you want to admit it or not, son, you do need a break. When you back me up, I need your head in the game. You need time to process what happened to Sam…and to you."

Dean crinkled his brow in confusion. "Nothing happened to me, Dad."

"Dean, you shot someone, not a werewolf, not a ghost, not one of a half dozen other supernatural entities, but a person. A person that you thought might be trying to kill your brother," John stated. Dean wrapped his arms tighter around his torso and clenched his fists. "You said she hurt Sam to get closer to you and, as odd as that is, are you really okay with everything that happened?"

Dean's gaze had dropped once more to the ground. He glanced over at the window again and up at his father, but didn't comment. He shifted restlessly and finally whispered, "No."

John clapped Dean on the shoulder and nodded towards the motel door. "That's actually a good thing, son. Come on, let's go back inside."

"I don't want Sam to know," Dean stated, standing his ground. "Not about Rose dying and not about me shooting her."

"Dean, don't you think it would help Sam to know Rose is gone?"

"No," Dean insisted, shaking his head. "Even if it makes him feel safer, I know Sam and somehow he'll turn that into being his fault and it will make things worse. I don't want him to know I shot Rose either. I don't…" Dean hesitated. He didn't want Sam to know he had shot someone and he certainly didn't want Sam to know he had shot someone and still failed to protect him. If Rose had been aiming for Sam – Sam would be dead.

"It's okay, Dean. We don't have to tell him," John agreed. "Come on. I need a shower."

That did cause Dean to smile. Everything was going to be okay. Dad was here, his secret was safe and Sam was back and on the road to recovery. His universe had righted itself. "You do smell like shit, Dad."

"In my defense, your brother hogged the shower," John retorted with a grin.

Dean laughed. "Why do you think I try to beat him into the shower every day? It's the only way I ever get hot water."

John chuckled, clapped Dean on the back and this time, Dean allowed his father to steer him towards the motel room and back to Sam.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam drew in a shaky sigh of relief when the police detectives climbed into their car and left. He had been watching the conversation and trying to ascertain what was being said based on body language.

The older detective had been controlled -- almost too controlled -- in his mannerisms. He tried too hard not to give away anything and that spoke loudly of an uncertainty. Of what, Sam didn't know but he assumed it had something to do with his brother.

The younger detective was enthusiastic almost to the point of giddy. He skittered around the others, his hands gesticulating wildly while he faced Dean, leaving Sam fairly certain that for Detective Lopez the thrill of the hunt was as important as the kill. It was a trait he could identify with. Figuring out what was happening, how and why often interested Sam more than hunting it.

When their father had placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed, Sam thought Dean was about to be arrested. Dad was not exactly known for his overt gestures of affection and it seemed like it had been meant to be comforting which had the opposite affect on Sam. He could think of only one thing that would have the police dogging their tail all the way to Ocala. Dean had done something drastic.

It really did not surprise Sam when he thought about it. Dean would do what it took to get the job done. He had limits and rules of conduct, some of which were complex enough that Sam had not been able to wrap his brain around them yet, but he did have one supreme dictum: protect the family.

He folded his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs in a familiar and comforting gesture. His dad and brother were still outside talking and Sam hoped it was just to give Dean time to tell Dad what had happened. It was obvious that Dean did not want Sam to know and that only caused Sam to worry more. He didn't want Dean to have done anything, not even to protect him, that he might regret.

He looked out the window again and took note of Dean's demeanor. His shoulders were slightly slumped, his head dipped marginally and his eyes periodically flicked from Sam and up towards Dad. His arms were crossed in front of him and his muscles were taut. Sam recognized his brother's defensive mode. He was protecting himself both physically and emotionally.

Sam wanted to know what was being said, but he would not push his brother to share, at least not yet. Pushing Dean places he did not want to go required energy and persistence and Sam did not possess either at the moment. He would have to wait and bide his time. Maybe Dean would surprise him and confess. Sam snorted, knowing that would never happen.

The door opened and Dad and Dean walked back into the room. "Finish getting dressed, Sam," John announced, "We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied, easing off the bed. He pulled a pair of socks out of the duffel bag and snagged his shoes. Dean squeezed in next to him and grabbed clean clothes out of the duffel. Sam tried to make eye contact with his brother, but Dean ducked his head and disappeared into the bathroom.

"Leave him," John stated. Sam shot his father a look of surprise. He did not think his father would be able to recognize what he was thinking. "He and I need a shower and then we can hit the road."

Sam nodded. Dad was covering for Dean. It was not unexpected, just – disappointing. He had taken three steps back from hard-earned trust with his dad. It would take a lifetime of dedicated effort to get it back and that thought caused Sam to suddenly feel very weary. He bent over to tie his shoes and the room spun.

Swallowing down the burning sick feeling in his throat, Sam finished tying his shoes and sat up, his head swimming wildly for several seconds. Hands wrapped around his arms and he looked up into the worried face of his father.

"Breathe through it, son," John instructed. His hand rested on Sam's head for a moment before backing away and sitting on the opposite bed. "Sam, I want you to leave this alone."

Sam crinkled his brow. "But, Dad," Sam protested.

"Leave it," John interrupted. "I mean it, Sam. If you can't handle that, you can ride with me to Pastor Jim's."

Sam could not stop the horrified look on his face from appearing. It was not the thought of being alone in the truck with his dad that caused the flutter of anxiety to rise in his chest, but the thought of spending time separated from Dean.

For days he had wanted nothing more than to be back with his brother and he did not want to risk jeopardizing that now. He needed his father here and it made him feel that both he and Dean were safe and that everything would be okay. He just didn't want to be separated from his brother.

"I'll drop it," he mumbled, reluctantly.

"Good enough," John narrowed his eyes and Sam squirmed under the scrutiny. "Do you think you can handle riding in the car for a few hours?"

Sam tried to decide what his dad really meant by that question. Surely Dad did not think he was completely incapacitated? "Yeah, of course," Sam replied. Inwardly, he cringed. Resentment had permeated his response.

"It's not a stupid question, Sam," John snapped. "Dean told me you're having nightmares, he's got a shiner from you waking up with fists flying."

A blush of shame colored his neck and cheeks. "I'll be fine." He would stay awake if he had to, if that is what it took to prove himself. He squashed down any feelings of betrayal he felt over Dean telling their father. Dean had told him that Dad would want to know what happened. His nightmares would certainly fall under that category, but the fact he had missed his brother sporting a bruised eye made him feel worse.

The bathroom door opened sparing Sam from any more conversation with his father. Dean emerged fully dressed and ready to go. Sam got a good look at his brother and noticed the faint purpling bruise around his eye. "Load 'em up, Dean," John announced. "We're burning daylight."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied. He stuffed his dirty clothes into the same duffel as his clean clothes and smiled at Sam. "You're riding with me, right?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. He glanced furtively towards their father and lowered his voice. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean asked, his face lighting up. He sat down on the bed his father had recently vacated. "Dad's back. You're back. No more cops and a day on the road in my Baby. What more do I need?"

Sam puffed a laugh. "A revenant or two?" he postulated, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah," Dean replied with a head nod. "That'd be sweet."

"Boys," John stated, interrupting. Twin heads of brown turned to look at their father. "I'm grabbing a Navy shower. Dean, have the car packed and ready to go."

"Will do, but I'm a little surprised it's okay for a Marine to take a Navy shower. I'd have thought they discouraged that sort of thing." Dean's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Gotta give those Navy guys credit when the deserve it," John smirked. "It isn't as often as a Marine and they get a little sensitive otherwise."

John turned to head into the bathroom and Dean called him up short. "Dad, we need to stop at a convenience store and get a bottle or two of sport's drink. Do you want Sam and I to head out and you can meet up with us down the road?"

"No," John replied sharply. Sam shot Dean a questioning look before their father continued. "I'd like to keep you boys in my rearview mirror this trip, got it?"

"Yes, sir," Dean replied. John nodded and disappeared behind the bathroom door. Dean turned back to Sam. "Looks like Dad is in overprotective mode."

"Don't expect sympathy from me," Sam snorted. "Now you know what it feels like."

"Hey, I'm not that bad," Dean protested. Sam raised an eyebrow and stared at his brother in disbelief. "What? I'm not."

Sam huffed lightly. "Dude, you're worse."

"I take offense to that," Dean shot back. "Or I would, except you're the little brother so your vote doesn't count." Dean stood up and slung the duffel over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Sam yawned deeply. "Yeah, okay." His eyes burned from the effort of keeping them open and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. He had been awake for several hours now and it was more than he had managed since leaving Rose's. He didn't want to fall asleep because he knew a nightmare would most likely be waiting for him. He needed to prove to his dad that he would be okay.

At some point, Sam realized he had lost the battle to sleep when hushed voices and the familiar sounds of packing reached his ears. He fought to stay adrift here, in that state just before sleep, so he would not have another nightmare. A hand on his shoulder caused him to flinch inwardly, but he didn't allow it to reach his face. He opened his eyes and looked into his father's brown eyes.

"Dean ran to the store to get the sport's drink. Why don't you sit up and take these before he gets back?" John placed three pills in Sam's palm. He waited until Sam had wriggled into a sitting position to hand him a cup filled with juice.

"I thought you didn't want Dean to make a store run," Sam observed.

"No, I didn't want you boys running ahead of me," John countered. "Dean'll be right back."

Sam nodded and turned the pills over in his hand with his finger, carefully examining each one. It wasn't that he didn't trust his dad, but he could not bear the thought of swallowing down pills without knowing exactly what they were. He easily identified the antibiotic and two pain killers. He ignoring the look of concern his father shot him and downed the pills in one gulp.

"You should finish it," John suggested, with a head nod. Sam stopped the motion of placing the cup on the bedside table mid-swing and instead lifted it to his lips again. He looked at his dad over the top of the cup and watched as he pulled supplies out of the first aid kit.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, quietly. He tossed the now empty cup into the garbage and silently congratulated himself on the successful shot.

"I'm going to take a look at your stitches," John replied. "And the bruises on your back and the bump on your head."

"I'm fine," Sam insisted, pulling back slightly. He did not need to be coddled. He was fine.

"Humor me, son," John replied. He grasped Sam's arm and slowly pulled up his sleeve to look at his wrist. "I'd like to see for myself."

Sam did not reply other than to nod his head, but he did sit quietly while his dad checked his stitches and cleaned and dressed both injuries. His dad's fingers were cold when they lifted his shirt and a whispered curse brushed his hair. He winced when the butterfly strips were pulled off the bump on his head. The Betadine swab was cool and wet on his forehead and three new strips finished the job.

During the entire process his father had not said anything other than the soft curse and Sam wasn't sure what to think. When the Impala engine rumbled in the parking lot, John looked up at Sam. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy," he said, his brown eyes soft and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Sam knew Dad was not talking about his physical injuries and he attempted a smile of his own. "I know."

John nodded, stood up and ruffled Sam's hair. "Good. That's good."

The door opened and Dean walked in singing the final strains of 'Renegade.' Sam cocked an eyebrow at Dean's choice of music, but his brother just smiled wide in return. "You guys ready?"

"We are," John replied. "Let's go."

Sam followed his family out the door and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean slid into the driver's seat beside him and started the engine. The Styx song Dean had been singing blasted through the speakers and Dean turned off the cassette player.

Pulling out of the parking lot behind their father's rig, Dean said, "You can sleep some more, Sammy. I'll wake you up when we stop."

"Nah, I'm good for awhile," Sam replied.

They rode in comfortable silence for nearly an hour before Sam could no longer stay awake. His eyes drifted shut and he slept.

_Rose held him close to her chest, her erratic breathing rocking him closer to the edge of awareness. He could feel the cold metal of a gun pressed under his chin and his brother's angry words before the pressure in his jaw disappeared._

"_I'm sorry, Dean," Rose said. "For everything."_

"_Rose no!" Dean shouted before the gun went off._

Sam gasped and opened his eyes. He looked around frantically and quickly acclimated to his surroundings. He looked over at Dean only to find his brother sneaking a worried glance at him. "What were you dreaming about?" Dean asked.

Sam looked away and out the window. "Nothing," he muttered quietly.

"Yeah, sure," Dean replied.

Sam mulled over the dream in his mind before he could no longer hold back and he finally said, "Dean, tell me the story of what happened."

Dean's eyes flicked in his direction before returning to the road. "Well, once upon a time there was a princess called Sa…"

"Knock it off, Dean, you know what I mean," Sam interrupted. "I want to know what happened with Rose."

"Look, you're my little brother…and I'd die for you," Dean replied matter-of-factly. He glanced at Sam again. Sam winced. He didn't need to hear his brother say things like that, especially when he knew how true it was. "But there're some things I need to keep to myself."

Sam thought about Dean's words for a moment and nodded his head. A big grin spread across his face until dimples appeared. He would definitely be able to use those words against his brother one day. "I'll remember that."

Dean turned his head back to Sam, smiled and a small laugh escaped his lips. "You do that." With a flick of his wrist, music flooded the Impala before Dean stepped on the gas and the Tennessee hills blurred past the windows.

………………………………………………………………**Supernatural**…………..……..…………………………………

AN: Woot! Woot!

/TraSan dances happy dance in her chair.

I finished it! Thank you all for hanging in there with me when the posting got slow in December. I appreciate all the feedback I received on this little one-shot that could. :D

You guys rock!

AN2: Heathernmg03 has a link on her profile page to show support for the writer's on strike. Please visit her page and send an eLetter on behalf of the Supernatural writers if you want to show your support. She's on my favorites list so she'll be easy to find. BG.

AN3: Well…I had a Supernatural moment the other day at work.

I (with the help of my original converts) have managed to get about 30 percent of my office watching Supernatural on Thursdays.

As a group, we converse about the show on Friday morning, but the best and longest standing tradition is infusing the work place with appropriate and well-placed quotes.

For instance, if one of us did something really hard, accomplishes a seemingly insurmountable task or best yet, manages to get something for the department that no one else was able to, that person may say, "I'm Batman."

I had the opportunity to use a Supernatural quote on Monday, but unfortunately, that's not the one.

I was walking from my car to my office and I saw two of my employees (names changed) Ann and Sue out on a cigarette break. I thought, 'Be careful crossing the tracks. You don't want to fall in front of the girls.'

I delicately stepped over the tracks and mentally congratulated myself on successfully avoiding that pitfall.

The lady that works at the Subway in our break room came out carrying a sack full of garbage. I moved to the side to allow her to pass and never really moved back. So...where the sidewalk curves towards the door I essentially walked off the exposed aggregate sidewalk on one side and fell, headlong onto the other.

I fell in slow motion. I could see Sue thirty feet away, wave her arms and shout (leaving no doubt something was going on)..."Ooooohhhh, myyyyy Ggggooooooddddd!" before my knees skidded along the concrete with my stomach shortly following.

My purse went one direction, my pop the other (a full pop) that exploded into a fountain of Diet Pepsi and ice and all the air in my lungs rushed out in a loud whoosh.

I immediately jumped to my feet and shouted, "TaaDaa!" before grabbing my purse, throwing the pop cup away and running through the door to the building before Sue and Ann could even get to me.

Miraculously, my slacks survived. My knees did not. They were an abraded, red mess.

I walked into the office, pulled my slacks up above my knees and showed them to Shelly (one of the SPN girls).

"Are you okay?" She asked. "What happened?"

I looked down abashedly and said in my best imitation of Sam Winchester, "I lost my shoe."

We laughed about it all afternoon.

Wanted: My pride. If found, please keep it and give it snuggles and warm fuzzy bunnies. I obviously cannot be trusted with it.


End file.
